A  SOLDIER-DOCTOR  OF  OUR  ARMY 
JAMES  P.  KIMBALL 


A  SOLDIER-DOCTOR  OF 
OUR  ARMY 

JAMES  P.  KIMBALL 

LATE  COLONEL  AND 
ASSISTANT  SURGEON-GENERAL,  U.S.  ARMY 


BY 


f^vs      MARIA \BRACE  KIMBALL^  I  %  5  < 

WITH  AN  INTRODUCTION  BY 

MAJOR-GENERAL  WILLIAM  C.  GORGAS 

SURGEON-GENERAL,   U.S.  ARMY 

^//</  2Z////&  Illustrations 


BOSTON    AND    NEW  YORK 

HOUGHTON  MIFFLIN  COMPANY 


1917 


COPYRIGHT,   1917,   BY  MARIA  BRACE  KIMBALL 
ALL   RIGHTS  RESERVED 

Published  March  iqrj 


incrof t  library 


PREFACE 

THE  heroism  of  the  army  surgeon  has  been 
by  many  people  overlooked.  Noncombatant 
the  surgeon  may  be  in  the  technical  sense  of 
the  word,  but  Dr.  Kimball's  letters  from  track 
less  plains  and  mountain-tops,  from  battle 
fields,  "civilized"  and  savage,  show  him  "ever 
a  fighter."  Ready  to  attack  death  or  disaster, 
he  was  indeed  a  true  soldier-doctor.  I  like 
the  name  familiar  to  every  man  in  the  ranks, 
"Captain-Doctor,"  "  Major-Doctor,"— hence 
Soldier-Doctor. 

The  extracts  from  my  husband's  letters  and 
journals  I  have  collected,  first,  for  my  sons, 
and  second,  for  all  who  may  like  to  know  an 
American  officer,  — 

"Whose  powers  shed  round  him  in  the  common 

strife, 

Or  mild  concerns  of  ordinary  life, 
A  constant  influence,  a  peculiar  grace; 
But  who,  if  he  be  called  upon  to  face 


vi  PREFACE 

Some  awful  moment  to  which  Heaven  has 

joined 

Great  issues,  good  or  bad  for  human  kind, 
Is  happy  as  a  lover;  and  attired 
With  sudden  brightness,  like  a  man  inspired; 
And  through  the  heat  of  conflict,  keeps  the  law 
In  calmness  made,  and  sees  what  he  foresaw." 
MARIA  BRACE  KIMBALL 


CONTENTS 

INTRODUCTORY    LETTER    FROM    WILLIAM 
C.  GORGAS,  SURGEON-GENERAL,  UNITED 

STATES    ARMY  xi 

I.    COLLEGE  AND  CIVIL  WAR  I 

II.    FORT  BUFORD THE  FRONTIER  27 

III.  THE  YELLOWSTONE  EXPEDITION  64 

IV.  THE  BLACK  HILLS  AND  THE  BIG  HORN  80 
V.   THE  THORNBURGH  MASSACRE  92 

VI.   TEXAS EUROPE TEXAS  HO 

VII.    NEW  MEXICO SANTE  FE  125 

VIII.    NEW  MEXICO FORT  WINGATE  137 

ix.  GOVERNOR'S  ISLAND  —  THE  WAR  WITH 

SPAIN  !6i 

X.    THE    END  176 
INDEX 


ILLUSTRATIONS 


DR.   JAMES   P.    KIMBALL,   UNITED   STATES 

ARMY,  1898.  Photogravure  Frontispiece 

From  a  photograph  by  Hollinger  &  Co. 

A   CANDIDATE    BEFORE   THE   ARMY   MEDICAL 

EXAMINING   BOARD  3<D 

From  a  drawing 

FORT  BUFORD,  DAKOTA  TERRITORY,  IN  1 868        38 

From  a  drawing 

SITTING   BULL  60 

From  a  photograph  by  0.  S.  Goff,  Bismarck,  D.T.,  1881 

ZUNIS    SELLING    POTTERY  76 

SALLY-PORT,    BRIDGE,   AND   MOAT  9<D 

Fort  Columbus  (now  Fort  Jay),  Governor's  Island 

INSCRIPTION  ROCK,  NEW  MEXICO  HO 

OLDEST  HOUSE  IN  THE  UNITED  STATES,  1535      126 

Near  San  Miguel  Church,  Santa  Fe 

"HUNTING-LEAVE"  —  SUPPER  ON  THE 

PLAINS  128 

CHILDREN  OF  ACOMA,  N.M.  I3O 

THE  GOVERNOR  AND  HIS  "  STAFF,"  ACOMA       130 
CHURCH  AT  ACOMA,  BUILT  IN  1 710  132 


x  ILLUSTRATIONS 

"NAVAJO  CHURCH,"  ROCK  FORMATION  NEAR 
FORT  WINGATE,  N.M. 

OFFICERS'  ROW  IN  WINTER,  FORT  WINGATE, 

N.M.  138 

"BOOTS   AND    SADDLES,"    CAMP   ON   RIO   SAN 

JUAN,    N.M.  144 

A  WATER-CARRIER  AT  ZUNI  148 

A   NAVAJO  WOMAN  AT  HER   LOOM  148 

CROSSING   RIO    SAN   JUAN,    N.M.  154 

FOUND!     PRIVATE    JENSEN   AFTER   HIS 

RESCUE  158 

THE    HARBOR   FROM   CASTLE   WILLIAM  1 62 

LITTER   DRILL,    GOVERNOR'S    ISLAND    ^  l62 


INTRODUCTORY   LETTER 

FROM   SURGEON-GENERAL  GORGAS 

WAR  DEPARTMENT, 

OFFICE  OF  THE  SURGEON-GENERAL, 

WASHINGTON,  D.C., 

January  29,  1917. 

MRS.  JAMES  P.  KIMBALL, 

Washington,  D.C. 
DEAR  MRS.  KIMBALL:  — 

I  have  looked  over,  with  a  great  deal  of  in 
terest,  the  manuscript  you  sent  me  dealing 
with  the  life  of  Doctor  Kimball.  It  gives  an 
excellent  picture  of  the  life  of  an  Army  Medical 
Officer,  as  lived  on  the  frontier,  when  I  first 
entered  the  service.  As  the  frontier  no  longer 
exists,  it  is  well  to  look  back  upon  the  making 
of  the  present  West,  which  has  been  accom 
plished  largely  since  the  close  of  the  Civil  War. 
During  these  fifty  years,  Indians  have  been  con 
quered,  railroads  constructed,  cities  built,  and 
Territories  have  become  States.  Medicine  and 
surgery  have  also  advanced  greatly  through- 


xii       INTRODUCTORY  LETTER 

out  this  period.  Serums,  antitoxins,  asepsis, 
trained  nursing,  specialism  in  medicine  were 
practically  unknown  on  the  frontier.  The  Army 
Medical  Officer  on  the  plains  was  obliged  to 
combine  the  duties  of  surgeon,  oculist,  aurist, 
dentist,  obstetrician,  general  practitioner,  with 
scanty  help  in  nursing  from  the  enlisted  men 
of  the  Hospital  Corps  to  whom  he,  himself, 
had  taught  "First  Aid/'  He  was  also  general 
health  officer  of  the  garrison;  was  compelled 
to  study  and  inspect  water  supply,  to  plant 
and  irrigate  post  gardens,  and  sometimes  to 
manufacture  ice.  In  addition,  he  often  had  a 
large  free  clinic  among  Indian  neighbors,  trad 
ers,  and  ranchmen.  Yet  this  busy  man,  who 
happened  to  be  interested  also  in  ethnology, 
botany,  geology,  or  biology,  did  not  fail  to 
make  use  of  his  rare  opportunities  for  study. 
Our  museums  and  libraries  have  been  enriched 
by  collections  and  monographs  made  by  Army 
Surgeons. 

To-day,  well  equipped  Army  Hospitals, 
with  their  corps  of  Red  Cross  nurses  and 
specialists,  are  in  marked  contrast  to  those  we 
used  to  know. 

In  this  slow  and  difficult  evolution,  Doctor 


INTRODUCTORY  LETTER      xiii 

Kimball  did  his  part  ably,  as  is  shown  in  the 
sketch  of  his  career.  It  is  a  human  document 
worthy  of  record  and  remembrance. 

I  am  much  obliged  for  the  reading  of  the 
book.  With  kindest  regards,  I  remain 
Yours  very  sincerely, 


A  SOLDIER-DOCTOR 
OF   OUR  ARMY 

I 

COLLEGE    AND   CIVIL   WAR 

Home  and  college  —  Assistant  Surgeon,  U.S.  Volunteers, 
Army  of  the  Potomac  —  First  battle,  Hatcher's  Run  — 
Lee's  surrender. 

THE  Kimballs  were  a  sturdy  race,  and  brought 
their  loyalty  to  religion  and  country  to  the 
new  land.  Richard  and  Ursula,  with  two  chil 
dren,  sailed  in  the  ship  Elizabeth  for  Boston 
in  1634.  "Fortis  non  Ferox"  reads  the  coat 
of  arms  of  the  Kimballs ;  and  in  the  midst  of 
savage  Indians  and  a  savage  climate  they  had 
need  of  Fortis,  and  perhaps  a  little  of  Ferox, 
too.  Our  first  American  ancestor's  farm  lay 
in  a  part  of  Cambridge  (Watertown),  and  a 
corner  of  Richard  KimbalPs  cornfields  was 
not  far  from  Harvard  College.  It  is  not  sur 
prising,  then,  that  one  Benjamin  Kimball  was 


2  A  SOLDIER-DOCTOR 

graduated  in  the  Harvard  class  of  1753,  and 
that  many  others  followed  him.  John  Kim- 
ball,  father  of  James,  was  born  in  Connecticut, 
and  thence  he  migrated  to  southwestern  New 
York.  There  Ruth  Ellis  became  his  wife.  In 
her  ancestry  another  strain  —  the  Welsh  — 
was  added  to  the  English  stock. 

In  this  new  land,  with  new  necessities,  our 
English  ancestors,  who  brought  their  trades 
with  them,  often  added  other  occupations  to 
their  handicrafts,  and  became  soldiers,  diplo 
mats,  teachers,  statesmen.  This  was  true  of 
many  Kimballs.  John  Kimball,  while  he  used 
his  trade,  increased  his  acres,  taught  school, 
and  collected  a  library.  So,  though  living  on 
a  farm  in  New  —  very  new  —  York,  his  son 
James  and  two  sisters  grew  up  in  a  book- 
reading  and  book-loving  family. 

Both  Ellises  and  Kimballs  were  always 
"good  fighters,"  from  the  days  when  John 
Kimball,  of  Ipswich,  responded  promptly  to 
Paul  Revere's  cry.  Their  names  are  found  in 
records  of  the  Revolution,  of  the  War  of  1812, 


COLLEGE  AND  CIVIL  WAR        3 

of  the  Civil  War,  and  of  the  war  with  Spain. 
Major  Peleg  Ellis,  of  Ellis  Hollow,  was  a  hero 
of  the  neighborhood,  and  his  tales  of  the  War 
of  1812  made  a  deep  impression  upon  his  lis 
tening  grandson,  James  Peleg  Kimball.  This 
Bible  name,  Peleg,  was  a  part  of  his  inheritance 
from  his  grandfather  Ellis,  together  with  clear- 
cut  features  and  an  ardent  temperament.  The 
name  was  his  only  objection  to  his  grandfather ; 
and,  while  he  wrote  it  "Peleg"  in  early  war 
records  in  later  life  he  changed  the  "P"  into 
another  family  "P"  —  Patterson. 

James  Kimball  was  born  in  Berkshire,  New 
York,  August  21,  1840.  He  grew  up  with  two 
sisters,  Olive  and  Grace,  one  older  and  one 
younger.  The  older  sister,  who  was  his  play 
mate,  gives  a  pretty  picture  of  their  outdoor 
life  together  on  the  farm.  It  is  a  placid,  roll 
ing  country,  this  rich  farmland  of  southern 
New  York,  with  blue  hills,  woods,  and  fields 
in  the  distance;  nearer,  are  the  apple  trees 
bending  down  to  the  kitchen  garden,  and  be 
yond,  the  "Gulf."  This  awful  chasm  has  been 


4  A  SOLDIER-DOCTOR 

photographed,  and  seems  just  a  quiet  water 
course  descending  gently  through  the  glades. 
But  in  that  dark  "gulf"  the  brother  and 
sister  built  stone  houses  "tall  enough  to  stand 
up  in,"  and  there  they  dreamed  of  Indians  and 
bears.  The  hillocks  were  Indian  graves,  and 
uprooted  trees  were  bears'  dens.  One  special 
bear,  half  pet  and  half  monster,  was  named 
"  Tige."  To  him  they  offered  propitiatory  meals 
of  nuts  and  apples,  and  as  the  food  always 
disappeared  between  one  visit  and  the  next, 
they  felt  sure  that  "Tige"  had  come  true. 
They  never  thought  of  this  unknown  wood-lord 
as  anything  so  humdrum  as  woodchuck  or 
squirrel.  Their  greatest  discoveries  were  a 
partridge's  nest,  or  the  first  spring  flower. 

"Happy  hearts  and  happy  faces, 
Happy  play  in  grassy  places." 

How  soon  the  boy  was  to  leave  his  play 
ground  and  follow  in  the  train  of  "pain  and 
fear  and  bloodshed"! 

Not  far  below  the  "Gulf"  and  the  orchard 
stood  the  district  schoolhouse.  There  young 


COLLEGE  AND  CIVIL  WAR        5 

James  and  his  sisters  began  their  education. 
The  boy's  taste  for  books  developed  at  the 
same  time  with  his  love  of  outdoor  life  and 
adventure.  Throughout  his  life  in  his  stations 
on  the  plains  or  in  the  cities,  in  war  and  in 
peace,  he  was  reader,  hunter,  and  naturalist. 
A  pocket  edition  of  Pope's  Iliad  he  always  took 
with  him  on  long  marches  or  campaigns.  So  it 
came  about  that  as  a  boy  he  was  sent  first  to  a 
near-by  academy  at  Ithaca,  and  then  to  Ham 
ilton  College.  The  family,  strong  in  New  Eng 
land  traditions,  devoutly  hoped  that  their  only 
son  would  enter  the  ministry.  It  was  the  year 
1 86 1.  The  children  of  to-day  cannot  know 
what  the  date  meant  to  the  young  men  of  that 
generation.  War  is  a  horror,  and  alas!  not  ob 
solete:  to-day  Kaiser,  King,  and  Czar  tell  us 
that  it  is  war  that  teaches  men  to  "  speak  plain 
the  word  country."  In  1861  the  country 
needed  surgeons,  therefore  medicine  was  the 
only  profession  to  be  considered.  So  reasoned 
the  young  Freshman  at  Hamilton  College- 
But  how  to  hurry  through  the  four  academic 


6  A  SOLDIER-DOCTOR 

years,  get  in  a  medical  course,  and  not  lose  a 
chance  of  a  battlefield  ?  That  was  the  problem 
and  it  was  ably  worked  out.  Read  this  letter, 
written  to  one  of  his  sisters,  from  James  Kim- 
ball,  Sophomore:  — 

HAMILTON  COLLEGE, 
CLINTON,  N.Y.,  October  i,  1862. 

College  is  a  very  different  place  from  what  it 
was  last  year.  Nearly,  or  quite,  one  third  of 
the  students  who  were  here  have  gone  to  war. 
But  the  boys  all  like  it,  and  those  at  the  seat 
of  war  say  they  have  no  desire  to  be  back  at 
college. 

The  letter  ends: — 

I  am  glad,  indeed,  that  I  am  to  leave  to 
teach  next  year,  as  college  honors  have  but 
little  attraction  for  me  in  this  lonesome  place. 
Should  n't  be  surprised  if  owls  and  bats  should 
hold  their  carnivals  in  these  classic  halls  at 
the  beginning  of  another  year.  I  don't  know 
but  we  shall  all  go  yet. 

In  the  same  letter  he  speaks  of  his  decision 
to  study  medicine,  with  the  intention  of  en- 


COLLEGE  AND  CIVIL  WAR        7 

tering  the  army  as  soon  as  possible,  either  as 
Hospital  Steward  or  Assistant  Surgeon.  This 
determined  young  student  actually  carried  on 
simultaneously  college  work,  medical  studies, 
and  teaching.  In  1864  he  secured  his  degree 
as  Doctor  of  Medicine  at  Albany  Medical  Col 
lege,  with  his  Bachelor  of  Arts  at  Hamilton,  in 
1865,  in  absentia. 

In  response  to  a  toast,  "The  Army/'  Dr. 
Kimball  in  1897  made  the  following  reference 
to  his  early  history.  He  was  speaking  before 
the  New  York  Alumni  Association  of  Albany 
Medical  College :  — 

"But  for  the  Army  —  the  soldier  'in  the 
air/  so  to  speak,  in  a  time  of  war,  I  should 
probably  not  have  had  the  good  fortune  to 
be  an  alumnus  of  the  Albany  Medical  College ; 
and  but  for  the  Albany  Medical  College,  I 
should  probably  not  have  followed  the  career 
of  the  soldier.  I  was  a  student  in  the  Medical 
Department  of  New  York  University,  and  ex 
pected  to  obtain  my  degree  in  that  institution 
and  enter  the  medical  service  of  the  Union 


8  A  SOLDIER-DOCTOR 

Army.  But  after  the  victories  of  the  summer 
of  1864  I  began  to  fear  that  the  war  would  be 
over  before  I  should  be  ready  to  share  in  it. 
At  the  University  I  could  not  get  the  re 
quisite  M.D.  until  March,  1865.  But  I  found 
that  up  at  Albany  was  a  medical  college  whose 
degree  would  answer  just  as  well,  and  that  here 
the  session  closed  in  December,  1864.  So  it 
came  about  that  one  December  day  I  became 
a  doctor  of  medicine,  and  the  next  day  a  sur 
geon  in  the  I2ist  New  York  Volunteers,  then 
serving  in  the  Army  of  the  Potomac,  —  where 
I  arrived  in  time  to  be  present  at  Lee's  sur 
render." 

This  work,  though  done  quickly,  was  not 
slightingly  or  easily  done.  James  Kimball  had 
learned  the  lessons  of  industry  and  economy 
at  home;  he  himself  earned  a  large  share  of 
the  money  for  his  education  by  teaching  in 
vacations.  College  life  in  those  days,  too,  es 
pecially  in  the  little  community  at  Hamilton, 
was  simple  —  meager  and  narrow,  the  boys 
of  to-day  might  call  it.  We  do  not  hear  of 


COLLEGE  AND  CIVIL  WAR        9 

"Junior  Proms,"  glee  and  banjo  clubs,  drama 
tic  associations,  nor  much  of  athletics.  Toiling 
up  and  down  the  snowy  hills  of  Clinton  was  an 
athletic  feat  in  itself.  But  if  college  luxuries 
did  not  exist,  the  necessities  did;  there  were 
scholars  at  Hamilton  in  the  faculty  and  among 
the  students  too.  Of  the  scholars  no  one  was 
more  loved  and  honored  than  Professor  Edward 
North —  "Old  Greek,"  as  he  was  affectionately 
called.  For  fifty  years  he  was  professor  of 
classics  at  Hamilton,  and  it  was  he,  perhaps, 
more  than  anyone  else,  who  succeeded  in  keep 
ing  those  boys  of  '61  on  their  seats  when  the 
alarums  of  war  sounded  outside  their  class 
room  doors.  His  son's  biography  of  Edward 
North,  "An  Old-Time  Professor  in  an  Old- 
Fashioned  College,"  shows  how  rare  scholar 
ship  grown  in  a  noble  nature  can  stir  the  en 
thusiasm  and  devotion  of  students  for  Greece, 
for  the  Greek  language,  and  for  the  teacher  of 
Greek.  Thirty  years  afterwards,  when  my  hus 
band  walked  up  the  hill  of  the  Acropolis  at 
Athens  and  stood  under  the  shadow  of  the 


10  A  SOLDIER-DOCTOR 

great  temples,  the  light  in  his  eyes,  the  glow 
in  his  face,  proved  his  lasting  enthusiasm  for 
Greece  and  for  this  teacher. 

In  the  medical  schools,  as  well  as  in  the  col 
leges,  there  was  a  constant  clamor  for  service 
on  the  firing  line.  A  glance  at  Brady's  photo 
graphs  of  fifty  years  ago  shows  that  camps  and 
battle-fields  were  filled  with  boy  generals,  boy 
sergeants,  boy  surgeons.  To  meet  this  demand 
of  medical  students  for  service,  a  special  corps 
called  "Medical  Cadets"  was  created.  This 
corps,  by  the  way,  contained  several  young 
surgeons  who  have  since  won  name  and  honor 
the  world  over. 

In  July,  1864,  Dr.  Kimball  was  admitted  to 
the  Cadets,  and  ordered  to  McDougall  Hos 
pital,  at  Fort  Schuyler  (Throg's  Neck),  New 
York.  The  hospital  contained  about  one 
thousand  patients,  and  the  sick  and  wounded 
were  constantly  arriving  by  transports  from 
the  front.  Into  this  huge  unknown  world  of 
suffering  and  death  went  the  country  boy, 
fresh  from  his  classrooms.  Already  he  had 


COLLEGE  AND  CIVIL  WAR      n 

something  of  the  true  surgeon's  self-control 
and  alertness,  with  a  boy's  interest  in  every 
thing  new.  He  writes  home  of  his  salary,  his 
rations,  his  negro  servant,  and  tells  of  his 
duties  —  the  dressing  of  minor  wounds,  and 
keeping  the  register  of  the  ward.  "The  sick 
and  wounded,"  he  writes,  "bear  their  misfor 
tunes  bravely  —  don't  make  as  much  fuss  at 
having  a  leg  or  arm  amputated  as  I  have  seen 
in  civil  life  at  the  drawing  of  a  tooth."  The 
last  thing  at  night,  the  young  officer,  with  an 
assistant,  visited  the  "dead  house."  Lantern 
in  hand,  they  passed  up  and  down  the  rows  of 
silent  sleepers.  Once,  as  they  were  about  to 
lock  the  door,  they  heard  a  low  moan ;  just  in 
time  they  turned  to  save  the  life  of  a  man 
who  had  been  left  as  dead  among  the  dead. 

After  several  months'  service  at  Fort 
Schuyler,  the  young  soldier-surgeon  obtained 
his  heart's  desire,  and  received  his  commission 
as  Assistant  Surgeon  in  the  I2ist  New  York 
Volunteers.  He  arrived  at  General  Meade's 
headquarters,  Army  of  the  Potomac,  at  City 


12  A  SOLDIER-DOCTOR 

Point,  in  January,  1865.  "My  regiment,"  — 
proud  word!  —  he  writes  to  his  father,  "is 
in  the  extreme  front,  about  two  and  a  half 
miles  from  Petersburg.  The  breastworks  are 
not  over  forty  rods  from  us,  and  the  picket 
firing  is  very  distinct,  the  line  being  about  half 
a  mile  in  advance,  of  the  breastworks."  Then, 
to  relieve  his  father's  anxiety,  he  changes  the 
subject:  "I  was  very  cordially  received  at 
headquarters,  and  had  a  tip-top  supper  of 
baked  potatoes,  pan-cakes,  and  mackerel."  To 
add  to  the  good  supper  was  a  good  horse  — 
always  a  welcome  friend  —  and  a  ride  about 
the  camp. 

The  glamour  of  war,  however,  soon  wears 
off  for  the  new  recruit ;  for  he  learns  that  war 
does  not  mean  fighting  a  battle  every  day,  but 
that  waiting  —  sleeping,  eating,  drilling,  often 
under  great  hardship  —  makes  half  the  battle. 
So  the  next  letter  is  written,  somewhat  wist 
fully,  "To  the  dear  ones  at  home."  "Our 
camp  is  pitched  on  rather  wet  ground,  which 
is,  or  rather  was,  covered  with  woods  of  pitch 


COLLEGE  AND  CIVIL  WAR      13 

pine.  These  are  all  cut  off  where  our  camp 
stands,  and  are  fast  disappearing  all  around 
us  for  firewood.  It  does  n't  make  very  good 
wood  to  burn,  but  then  we  have  plenty  of  it. 
Our  grounds  have  been  drained  and  the  stumps 
cut  close  to  the  soil,  so  that  we  have  a  very 
good  parade-ground,  smooth  and  quite  dry. 
Not  far  away  runs  Grant's  military  railroad, 
which  is  rather  a  curiosity,  as  it  is  not  graded, 
but  runs  up  and  down  little  elevations,  like 
a  common  carriage  road.  They  make  good 
time  on  the  road,  however,  and  if  you  don't 
object  to  now  and  then  pitching  into  your  own 
next-door  neighbor,  or  having  him  pitch  into 
you,  it  is  good  riding."  The  postscript  to  this 
letter  is  more  significant:  "Feb.  i,  1865.  We 
have  orders  to  pack  up,  and  be  ready  to  move 
at  a  moment's  notice  —  no  one  knows  where." 
He  adds  that  he  had  been  left  as  Surgeon  in 
charge  of  the  regiment,  with  plenty  to  do.  He 
never  forgets  to  mention  his  good  horse,  then 
the  five  servants,  and  lastly  himself-  "Am 
well,  and  growing  fat."  The  young  surgeon 


14  A  SOLDIER-DOCTOR 

was  proud  of  his  "veteran"  regiment,  a  vete 
ran  three  years  old ;  for  a  regiment  ages  fast  on 
the  battle-field.  The  idol  of  the  command  was 
the  Sixth  Corps.  Grant's  dry  comment  after 
the  battle  of  Cedar  Creek,  "  Sheridan  was  a 
lucky  man  to  have  had  the  Sixth  Corps  with 
him  that  day,"  became  the  theme  of  a  song. 
In  the  camp-fire  jingles,  Sheridan  thus 
speaks : — 

"Come  up  with  me,  you  Nineteenth, Eighth, 
Come  up  with  me,  I  say. 
Why  do  you  lag  so  far  behind? 
We  have  not  lost  the  day  — 
Come  up  upon  that  crest  of  hill, 
You'll  see  a  glorious  sight; 
You  won't  get  hurt;  you  need  not  fire, 
But  see  that  Sixth  Corps  fight!" 

I  have  often  heard  my  husband  sing  these 
lines  long  afterwards  as  he  buckled  on  ac- 
couterments  for  a  day's  march  across  the 
mesas  of  New  Mexico. 

Ten  days  later,  the  Sixth  Corps  once  more 
went  into  action,  in  the  battle  of  Hatcher's 


COLLEGE  AND  CIVIL  WAR      15 

Run,  and  here  all  the  corps  did  their  part 
nobly.  As  this  was  the  surgeon's  first  battle, 
he  wrote  of  it  very  carefully  to  his  mother,  and 
the  anniversary  of  that  day  he  always  "kept/' 
not  as  a  noisy  holiday  but  as  a  solemn,  sacred 
memory:  — 

BEFORE  PETERSBURG. 

DEAR  MOTHER:  —  When  I  wrote  to  you 
last,  we  were  under  marching  orders,  but  did 
not  move  until  about  nine  o'clock  last  Sunday 
evening.  We  then  marched  silently  out  of 
camp,  leaving  our  drum  corps  behind  to  beat 
the  various  calls,  that  the  "Rebs"  might  not 
miss  us.  About  midnight  we  halted,  formed  in 
line  of  battle,  and  lay  down  to  sleep,  with 
nothing  above  us  save  the  clear  sky,  through 
which  the  moon  shone  brightly  and  the  "stars 
of  heaven  were  looking  kindly  down."  We  did 
not  move  from  this  place  until  four  P.M.  of  the 
next  day,  Monday.  We  marched  then  across 
Hatcher's  Run,  and  about  five  o'clock  came 
into  an  open  field  fifty  rods  in  width,  on  one 
side  of  which  were  the  Rebels,  in  the  woods, 
behind  entrenchments.  We  formed  in  line 
of  battle  as  a  reserve,  and  the  Fifth  Corps 


i6  A  SOLDIER-DOCTOR 

charged  on  the  enemy.  But  the  "Rebs"  were 
too  much  for  them,  cutting  them  up  terribly, 
and  causing  them  to  break  and  fall  back  in 
terrible  confusion.  The  "Johnnies"  — Con 
federates  —  charged,  not  on  the  skedaddlers, 
as  they  supposed,  but  on  the  unbroken  first 
division  of  the  Sixth  Corps,  who  sent  them 
back  behind  their  breastworks,  on  the  double- 
quick.  Up  to  this  time  I,  in  company  with  the 
other  surgeons  of  the  Brigade,  had  been  idle  but 
interested  spectators  of  the  scene.  Now  the 
wounded  began  to  be  brought  back,  and  we 
had  business,  plenty.  We  merely  applied  tem 
porary  dressings,  arresting  hemorrhages,  etc., 
saw  them  put  into  ambulances  and  sent  to  the 
rear.  There  we  confiscated  a  large  white  house 
in  a  beautiful  grove  of  pine  trees,  put  the  occu 
pants,  an  old  gentleman,  a  middle-aged  lady, 
two  girls,  and  a  boy,  into  one  room,  and  of  the 
rest  made  a  hospital.  The  parlor  we  took  for 
an  operating-room,  and  there,  where  once,  I 
suppose,  promenaded  the  "flower  and  chiv 
alry"  of  the  "Old  Dominion,"  now  ran  streams 
of  human  blood,  and  instead  of  the  merry 
laugh  of  Southern  beaux  and  belles,  now  were 
heard  only  the  groans  of  our  brave  soldiers. 


COLLEGE  AND  CIVIL  WAR      17 

The  counterpart  of  this  incident  is  one  often 
spoken  of  by  my  husband :  after  an  exhausting 
night  of  work  over  the  wounded,  a  party  of 
surgeons  was  riding  hastily  forward  to  over 
take  the  division.  As  they  rode  through  the 
darkness,  almost  reeling  from  the  saddle  with 
sleep,  the  mistress  of  a  beautiful  Virginia  man 
sion  stopped  the  party,  and  begged  the  officers 
to  come  in  and  care  for  the  wounded.  These 
were  our  brothers,  the  enemy,  and  here  the 
wearied  Northern  doctors  performed  their 
services  in  the  true  spirit  of  knight  and  doc 
tor  ;  services  received  by  these  wounded  men 
with  the  Southern  courtesy  and  gratitude, 
unfailing  even  in  their  hour  of  agony. 

This  first  stage  of  "Hatcher's  Run"  was 
followed  by  a  night  under  arms,  when  our 
troops  had  fallen  back  behind  the  outer  line  of 
breastworks.  "I  spread  my  rubber  blanket  on 
the  ground/'  writes  the  surgeon,  "put  my  case 
of  instruments  under  my  head  for  a  pillow,  had 
another  blanket  thrown  over  me,  and  went  to 
sleep  with  cap,  overcoat,  boots  and  spurs  on, 


i8  A  SOLDIER-DOCTOR 

and  an  orderly  standing  near  holding  my  horse, 
ready  for  action  at  a  moment's  notice."  It 
was  into  this  sleep  that  came  dreams,  not  of 
bugle-calls  and  bloody  duty,  but  of  the  pretty 
excitement  of  squirrel-shooting  at  home  on  the 
farm;  distinctly  he  heard  the  patter  of  shots 
on  the  dry  autumn  leaves,  I  have  heard  my 
husband  say,  but  he  awoke  to  find  that  the 
"shots"  were  the  shells  of  the  enemy  "screech 
ing  noways  musically"  over  his  head. 

"At  five  A.M.  Tuesday,"  continues  the  let 
ter,  "I  crawled  out  from  under  my  blanket, 
which  was  covered  with  half  an  inch  or  more 
of  frozen  rain  and  snow,  took  my  coffee,  hard 
tack,  and  pork,  and  again  fell  into  position. 
As  the  day  advanced,  it  snowed  and  hailed,  and 
finally  rained  hard,  almost  freezing,  but  not 
quite,  making  it  awful  overhead,  underfoot, 
and  all  around.  All  day  long  I  sat  in  the  saddle, 
wet  through  and  through,  watching  and  wait 
ing" —  a  large  part  of  every  campaign  — 
"and  occasionally  giving  a  pass  to  a  sick  man, 
not,  however,  if  he  was  able  to  stand  up  and 


COLLEGE  AND  CIVIL  WAR      19 

hold  a  musket,  or  I  should  have  excused  my 
whole  regiment.  At  length,  at  four  P.M.,  the 
bugle  sounded,  and  we  moved.  Everybody  was 
desperate,  and  the  'Rebs'  must  have  felt  it,  for 
they  fell  back  with  very  little  resistance,  leav 
ing  us  masters  of  the  ground.  We  accomplished 
what  we  came  out  for,  viz:  to  extend  our  lines, 
thus  taking  more  of  Lee's  army  to  front  us, 
and  so  prevent  him  from  sending  reinforce 
ments  against  Sherman.  The  enemy  fired  so 
high,  that  but  little  damage  was  done  us.  The 
Second  and  Fifth  Corps  suffered  most.  Our 
officers  say  they  never  endured  greater  hard 
ships."  "Peace/'  he  adds,  "seems  to  be 
played  out  for  the  present.  The  North  must 
come  down  with  her  men  and  force  a  peace,  if 
she  wants  one.  ...  I  am  as  well  contented, 
for  what  I  know,  as  though  sleeping  on  down 
—  and  faring  sumptuously  every  day.  Am 
glad  to  have  a  'hand'  in  this  struggle  for 
freedom." 

After  "Hatcher's  Run"  came  the  monot 
ony  and  suspense  of  camp  life  again.  Reports 


20  A  SOLDIER-DOCTOR 

consume  a  large  part  of  the  surgeon's  time, 
and  red  tape  methods  prevail,  even  in  camp. 
The  daily  "  sick  call "  brings  out  many  instances 
of  heroism,  no  less  in  the  hospital  ward  than  in 
the  field.  Thus :  "  I  have  lost  but  one  patient 
since  being  here,  and  he  was  brought  in  mor 
tally  wounded.  He  was  shot  accidentally,  while 
returning  to  camp  from  picket  duty  Sunday 
morning."  (The  waste  of  war!  Probably  shot 
by  one  of  his  own  comrades.)  "I  amputated 
his  arm  and  dressed  his  other  wounds,  and  kept 
him  alive  on  brandy  until  yesterday  morn 
ing.  He  was  a  Pennsylvanian  named  Car 
penter,  only  twenty  years  old"  —  Surgeon 
Kimball  was  then  twenty-five  years  old — "  and 
as  intelligent  and  bright  a  lad  as  I  have  seen 
in  a  long  time.  Could  have  lost  half  the  men  in 
my  ward  with  less  regret  than  I  did  him." 

He  writes,  too,  of  the  enemy  and  their 
maneuvers:  "Our  lines  and  theirs  are  so  close 
that  very  little  can  be  done  on  either  side 
without  the  knowledge  of  the  other.  A  day  or 
two  since,  when  we  were  out  on  a  review,  the 


COLLEGE  AND  CIVIL  WAR      21 

Rebels  massed  troops  opposite  us,  evidently 
thinking  we  were  about  to  attack  them." 

Apropos  of  these  reviews,  he  writes:  "I  am 
obliged  to  have  a  sword  to  wear  during  the 
coming  reviews,  but  I  am  in  hopes  the  mud 
will  cause  them  to  be  put  off  until  after  pay 
day,  and  so  am  not  going  to  be  in  a  hurry  to 
purchase." 

Again,  still  near  Petersburg:  "The  First 
Division,  Sixth  Corps,  was  reviewed  yesterday 
by  General  Grant,  Admiral  Porter,  and  other 
distinguished  generals,  who  complimented  the 
Division  in  the  highest  terms  for  their  soldierly 
bearing,  etc.  It  was  amusing  to  see  Admiral 
Porter  in  the  saddle;  for,  although  he  rode  a 
horse  that  seemed  to  possess  the  least  amount 
of  life  consistent  with  breathing,  he  rolled  in 
the  saddle  as  though  he  was  in  a  gale  of  wind 
on  an  ironclad." 

The  doctor  writes,  too,  of  visits  from  sev 
eral  college  friends.  The  Adjutant's  clerk  was 
a  member  of  his  class  at  Hamilton,  and  in 
general  the  society  of  the  camp  before  Peters- 


22  A  SOLDIER-DOCTOR 

burg  was  excellent.  The  outdoor  life  of  the 
early  Virginia  spring  they  found  agreeable. 
Yet  the  devastation  of  war  had  touched  the 
fields:  "Grass  is  growing  (March  22,  '65) 
wherever  there  is  any  chance  for  it  to  grow,  as 
all  of  this  country  that  I  have  seen  is  tramped 
and  trodden  as  bare  as  any  highway." 

But  these  idle  March  days  were  big  with 
destiny,  for  the  end  was  approaching.  The 
next  letter  was  written  on  coarse  brown  pa 
per,  in  fading  pencil  lines.  I  copy  it,  from 
the  address  on  the  rude  envelope,  to  the  sig 
nature: — 

To  JOHN  F.  KIMBALL,  ESQ. 

HEAD-QUARTERS,  FIRST  DIVISION,  SIXTH  CORPS. 

NEAR  APPOMATTOX  COURT  HOUSE,  VA. 

TWENTY-FIVE  MILES  FROM  LYNCHBURG. 

April  10,  1865. 
DEAR  FATHER, 

Lee  has  surrendered,  and  the  War  is  over. 
The  Army  is  crazy,  and  we  are  having  Fourth 
of  July  on  a  grand  scale.  The  Sixth  Corps  has 
done  most  of  the  fighting  in  this  short  and  final 


COLLEGE  AND  CIVIL  WAR      23 

campaign.  We  have  had  forced  marches,  and 
hard  fighting  since  we  left  Petersburg,  and  are 
nearly  tired  out.  Are  going  to  rest  now. 

I  don't  know  what  will  be  done  with  the 
Army  now.  Will  write  again  soon.  This  is 
Rebel  paper  and  envelopes.  Hope  to  be  with 
you  before  a  great  while. 

Very  truly  your  son, 

JAMES  P.  KIMBALL. 

So  ends  this  great  chapter  in  Dr.  Kimball's 
life  —  in  one  way  the  most  significant  half- 
year  of  his  life.  The  march  northward,  the 
mustering  out  of  the  valiant  I2ist  New  York, 
and  the  transfer  to  the  65th  New  York,  are 
like  the  fifth  act  of  a  tragedy. 

A  letter  dated  April  28,  1865,  is  written 
from  Danville,.  Virginia,  where  the  Sixth 
Corps  and  Sheridan's  Cavalry  were  encamped 
after  a  smiling  march  through  magnificent 
"wheat-fields,  corn,  roses  in  blossom,  and 
darkies  in  abundance.  I  asked  an  old  woman 
what  she  thought  of  the  Yanks,  and  she  said, 
'Lor  bress  you,  I'se  so  glad  you's  come.  I 


24  A  SOLDIER-DOCTOR 

b'longs  to  myself  now,  I  reckon/  And  they 
are  all  of  the  same  opinion."  Another  bit  of 
local  color  occurs  in  the  picture  of  an  old 
planter,  whose  house  and  gardens  had  become 
Sheridan's  headquarters.  "The  grounds  are 
beautiful,"  writes  the  young  conqueror ; "  flow 
ers  in  profusion,  graveled  walks,  and  oak  and 
maple  shade  trees,  girls  and  a  piano  in  the 
house,  good  stables,  and  plenty  of  forage  for 
our  horses.  I  don't  know  how  long  we  shall 
stay  here  —  long  enough,  I  hope,  to  eat  him 
out  and  make  him  realize  there  is  war  in  the 
land."  These  young  officers  could  not  forget 
that  this  rich  planter  was  the  first  man  to 
raise  the  Confederate  flag  in  Danville,  and 
they  did  not  waste  an  opportunity  to  "eat 
him  out  "when  invited.  "We  are  in  sight  of 
the  hills  of  North  Carolina,  and  if  Johnston 
does  not  surrender  when  he  hears  how  close 
the  Sixth  Corps  are  to  him,  we  shall  press  the 
acquaintance  more  closely.  Later,  three  P.M. 
Have  just  had  a  'right  smart'  dinner  with  the 
old  secesh  and  family.  The  first  time  I  have 


COLLEGE  AND  CIVIL  WAR      25 

sat  down  to  a  table  since  the  I4th  of  January 
last.  For  dinner  had  ham  boiled  and  ham 
fried,  greens  of  some  kind,  new  potatoes,  new 
onions,  lettuce,  radishes,  roast  turkey,  hoe- 
cake,  hot  rolls,  pickles,  etc.,  with  wine  and 
cigars  to  wind  up  with.  The  Colonel,  Chap 
lain,  Adjutant,  and  myself  were  the  guests,  and 
we  ate  as  only  men  can  eat  who  live  in  the  open 
air,  exercise  freely,  and  seldom  have  more  than 
two  dishes  at  a  meal/'  He  adds:  "The  young 
ladies  were  very  affable  —  played  the  piano, 
lent  me  a  volume  of  poems  to  read  this  after 
noon,  and  were  on  the  whole,  quite  entertain 
ing."  Who  knows  what  might  have  happened 
if  Johnston  had  delayed  his  surrender !  But 
the  letter  continues  an  hour  later:  "Four 
P.M.  We  have  just  received  official  news  of 
Johnston's  surrender.  Cannon  are  firing,  bands 
playing,  men  cheering,  and  everything  sounds 
as  though  the  'day  of  jubilee  had  come.'  The 
old  gentleman  has  gone  down  to  head 
quarters  to  take  the  oath  of  allegiance.  He 
has  five  large  plantations  and  two  hundred 


26  A  SOLDIER-DOCTOR 

negroes."  An  eventful  day  for  host  and 
guests ! 

June,  1865,  chronicles  the  mustering  out  of 
the  I2ist  New  York  and  the  surgeon's  trans 
fer  to  the  6sth  New  York  Volunteers.  Al 
though  this  appointment  delayed  his  return 
home,  he  thought  it  best  to  accept  the  nomina 
tion  to  a  vacancy  and  to  the  service  of  peace. 
He  says  frankly,  too,  that  he  would  rather 
spend  the  summer  in  a  tent  here  than  in  a 
house  anywhere.  While  stationed  at  Wash 
ington  he  finds  his  official  duties  very  light 
and  rides  ten  or  fifteen  miles  a  day  with  great 
pleasure. 

If  Dr.  Kimball  had  lived  to  write  this  bit 
of  personal  history,  doubtless  he  could  have 
filled  in  many  details  of  these  last  days  of  the 
Army  of  the  Potomac.  Of  the  grand  review  at 
Washington  I  have  heard  him  speak.  And 
when,  on  one  occasion,  a  little  company  was 
comparing  notes  upon  the  greatest  man  each 
had  ever  seen,  he  said  quietly,  "I  have  seen 
Lincoln." 


II 

FORT  BUFORD  —  THE  FRONTIER 

Adventures  in  California,  1865  —  Stage-coach  robbery 
—  Earthquake  —  Surgeon,  U.S.  Army  —  Ordered  to  Fort 
Buford,  Dakota  Territory — The  journey  —  Indians  hostile 
and  friendly  —  Sitting  Bull  —  An  Indian  raid. 

AFTER  being  mustered  out  of  the  Volunteer 
Army  (65 th  New  York),  Dr.  Kimball  spent 
a  wander-year  with  an  old  friend,  also  a 
young  physician.  They  set  out  for  the  Pacific 
Coast  —  not  to  search  for  gold  directly,  but  to 
see  the  wild  life  of  the  mining  towns  and  to 
find  a  paying  medical  practice. 

They  sailed  to  Aspinwall  and  stayed  long 
enough  on  the  Isthmus  of  Panama  to  study 
the  then  ever-present  Chagres  Fever.  Thence 
up  the  Mexican  Coast,  touching  at  Acapulco 
and  tasting  the  first  delights  of  travel  in  a 
foreign  land.  Thus  they  arrived  in  San  Fran 
cisco —  twenty-three  and  a  half  days  from 
New  York.  Then  another  twenty-four  hours 


28  A  SOLDIER-DOCTOR 

over  the   Sierras  by  stage  to  Carson  City, 
Nevada. 

Carson  City  was  already  in  a  decline  and 
prospectors  had  betaken  themselves  to  the 
newer  and  richer  silver  leads  at  Virginia  City. 
There  the  young  doctors  established  them 
selves,  rather  dazzled  by  large  fees,  but  doubt 
ful  whether  riches,  after  all,  could  make  up  for 
life  in  a  desert  and  in  mining  camps.  The 
friend  was  of  a  delicate  constitution  and  the 
altitude  (6500  feet)  proved  too  much  for  him, 
so  that  in  less  than  two  months  they  found 
themselves  back  in  New  York.  Meantime 
they  had  their  fill  of  adventure;  they  had 
undergone  a  stage-coach  robbery,  a  financial 
panic,  an  earthquake,  and  all  but  shipwreck ! 
The  traveler  writes  to  his  mother:  "The  ship 
we  came  back  on  had  over  a  thousand  pas 
sengers,  whereas  when  we  went  out  there  were 
about  four  hundred.  .  .  .  We  had  a  terrible 
voyage  —  never  expected  to  be  here  on  dry 
land  a  few  days  ago,  when  we  lay  helpless  in 
the  trough  of  the  sea;  our  engines  broke  down, 


FORT  BUFORD  29 

the  ship  sprang  a  leak  and  only  the  hand- 
pumps  could  be  worked ;  we  were  on  an  al 
lowance  of  two  hard  biscuits  a  day.  I  shall 
observe  Thanksgiving  Day  with  a  thankful 
heart  this  year,  for  no  less  than  ten  times  have 
I  escaped  unharmed  from  what  seemed  threat 
ening  certain  death." 

Then  came  the  question  where  to  settle,  or 
whether  to  settle  at  all.  An  opening  offered  in 
a  small  town  near  Syracuse,  New  York  (Pom- 
pey),  and  there  Dr.  Kimball  seriously  tried  to 
become  a  country  doctor.  In  less  than  two 
years,  however,  he  writes  to  his  mother  that  he 
has  attained  the  "height  of  his  ambition  for 
the  present  —  the  honorable  position  of  an 
officer  in  the  United  States  Army."  This  posi 
tion  he  held  for  thirty-five  years  —  until  al 
most  the  day  of  his  death.  The  unbroken 
routine  of  a  country  practice,  the  frequent 
encounter  with  "quacks,"  together  with  "the 
icy  blasts  on  Pompey's  hills"  —  all  strength 
ened  his  determination  to  go  back  to  the  Army. 
So  he  "worked  hard  and  said  nothing,"  stole 


30  A  SOLDIER-DOCTOR 

down  to  New  York,  and  passed  the  examina 
tion  for  a  surgeon's  certificate.  And  what  an 
ordeal!  Here  is  the  letter  telling  about  it 
(March,  1867):  "The  examination  lasted  a 
week;  there  were  six  candidates  and  I  was  the 
only  one  that  passed !  You  can  imagine  it  was 
something  of  an  examination,  as  we  were 
examined  in  Latin,  Greek,  French,  and  Ger 
man ;  Arithmetic,  Algebra,  Geometry,  Trigo 
nometry,  and  Calculus,  Geography,  political 
and  physical,  Ancient  and  Modern  History  and 
Literature,  Mineralogy,  Conchology,  Botany, 
and  Natural  Physics,  etc.,  and  then  a  most 
exhaustive  examination  in  Medicine  and  all 
its  branches."  What  do  you  think  of  unload 
ing  upon  paper  in  one  short  week  the  substance 
of  your  whole  education  —  you  pampered 
college  boys  of  to-day? 

In  later  years,  when  Dr.  Kimball  himself 
sat  upon  a  Board  and  in  turn  helped  to  torture 
his  victims,  he  enjoyed  with  his  fellow  surgeons 
some  amusing  episodes.  The  accompanying 
sketch,  made  by  a  brother  officer,  suggests 


FORT  BUFORD  31 

what  the  young  man  went  through,  less  the 
tears  of  the  candidate. 

The  army  surgeon's  first  station  was  Fort 
Delaware,  Delaware.  There,  in  May,  1867, 
he  found  himself  Surgeon  in  charge,  —  "a 
pleasant  station,  with  just  enough  to  do  to 
make  it  agreeable  and  leave  plenty  of  time  to 
read  and  study."  The  element  of  the  unex 
pected  is  part  of  the  fascination  of  the  young 
soldier's  or  sailor's  life.  That  he  was  not  bound 
for  years  to  this  island  in  Chesapeake  Bay, 
that  there  were  whispers  of  the  border,  the 
unknown,  the  wilderness,  in  store  for  him, 
made  him  contented  with  his  post.  i 

Meantime,  he  employed  the  leisure  of  hos 
pital  attendants  and  convalescents  in  garden 
ing.  "Am  turning  my  attention  to  that  busi 
ness  I  used  to  be  so  determined  to  dislike  — 
farming."  He  really  learned  to  love  his  gar 
den,  and  for  many  years,  as  he  went  from  post 
to  post,  he  added  to  his  regular  duties  those 
of  "chief  gardener."  The  annals  of  the  post 
garden  would  bring  out  a  pretty  phase  of  gar- 


32  A  SOLDIER-DOCTOR 

rison  life.  I  remember  well  the  plot  at  Fort 
Wingate,  New  Mexico,  where  by  irrigation  and 
careful  planting  the  desert  was  made  to  blos 
som,  in  sweet  peas  as  well  as  cabbages  and 
kohlrabi,  dear  to  the  sauerkraut  barrel  of 
the  enlisted  man.  So  to  utilize  the  otherwise 
wasted  energy  of  the  unoccupied  soldier  was 
good  hygiene,  and  quite  abreast  of  modern 
ideas. 

Orders  for  Fort  Buford,  Dakota,  on  the 
Upper  Missouri,  were  not  long  delayed,  and 
the  journey  began  in  July  of  the  same  year, 
1867.  The  journey  across  the  continent  in 
those  days  was  a  test  of  the  tenderfoot's  grit. 
However,  the  school  of  the  Army  of  the 
Potomac  proved  good  training,  and  the  young 
army  surgeon  gloried  in  every  difficulty.  A 
railroad  accident,  combined  with  freshets  in 
the  Missouri,  caused  him  to  miss  the  boat  from 
St.  Louis,  at  Council  Bluffs,  Iowa.  The  jour 
ney  from  St.  Louis  to  Fort  Buford  by  boat  took 
a  month,  on  account  of  the  strong  current  of 
the  Missouri  —  the  return  trip  with  the  cur- 


FORT  BUFORD  33 

rent  occupied  from  seven  to  nine  days,  only. 
The  young  surgeon  found  himself  in  company 
with  Major  Howell,  U.S.A.,  who  was  bound  for 
Fort  Benton,  Montana,  five  hundred  miles 
beyond  Fort  Buford.  Together  they  con 
trived  a  plan  to  stage  across  the  country  and 
meet  the  boat  at  Sioux  City  —  the  stage  jour 
ney  being  one  hundred  miles,  the  river  route 
two  hundred  and  eighty.  All  went  well  at 
first  with  relays  of  horses  every  fifteen  miles, 
until  they  reached  the  river  bottom,  which 
was  overflowed,  with  the  water  still  rising. 
The  driver  at  first  refused  to  go  on,  but  "ten 
dollars  tempted  him  and  we  struck  out  to 
cross  a  place  five  miles  wide,  with  the  water 
in  many  places  coming  into  the  stage."  The 
horses  mired,  the  stage  stuck  fast,  and  Sur 
geon  and  Major  were  left  to  compose  jingles 
and  sing  away  the  swarms  of  mosquitoes, 
while  the  driver  went  back  to  the  station  for 
fresh  horses.  Soon  after  a  second  start  came 
another  pause ;  the  driver  declared  that  he  had 
lost  the  way!  Still  the  plucky  travelers  were 


34  A  SOLDIER-DOCTOR 

undaunted — they  consulted  the  stars  and 
moved  on,  until  the  horses  went  down  in  a 
ditch.  "The  Major  and  myself/'  writes 
Surgeon  Kimball,  in  a  letter  to  his  mother, 
"then  stripped  to  the  work  and  went  in;  got 
our  horses  out  and  by  means  of  a  chain 
hitched  to  the  wagon  pole,  pulled  it  over. 
We  then  went  ahead  with  a  light,  feeling  the 
ground  with  our  toes,  and  when  we  found 
eight  or  ten  rods  of  good  ground,  held  up  our 
light  and  the  driver  came  on.  Notwithstanding 
our  precautions,  the  horses  went  down  five 
or  six  times,  but  finally  we  conquered  and 
reached  dry  land  about  half-past  three  in  the 
morning,  just  as  the  gray  dawn  began  to 
break  in  the  east,  having  been  seven  hours  in 
the  water,  making  five  miles."  This  was  the 
morning  of  July  Fourth,  and  the  day  was  not 
forgotten  by  the  two  servants  of  their  country. 
"We  wrung  some  of  the  water  out  of  our 
clothes,  fired  a  salute  from  our  revolvers  in 
honor  of  the  Fourth  of  July,  and  moved  on." 
The  two  adventurers  at  last  fell  upon  good 


FORT  BUFORD  35 

times;  they  might  have  been  Launcelots  or 
Galahads  riding  through  some  Old-World  for 
est  but  for  the  background  of  our  Far  West. 
"At  noon,"  says  the  letter,  "as  we  passed 
through  a  cottonwood  grove  we  found  a  picnic 
party  assembled  from  various  ranches;  they 
invited  us  to  dine  with  them  on  cold  turkey, 
cake,  etc.,  so  that  we  had  a  Fourth  of  July  din 
ner  according  to  regulations!"  At  Sioux  City 
they  arrived  at  four  o'clock  and  found  them 
selves  comfortably  lodged  in  a  hotel  looking 
over  the  city — "the  prettiest  and  neatest 
and  most  civil  Western  town  I  know  of." 
Wonders  continued,  for  the  disaster  was  turned 
into  a  blessing.  "The  boat  we  missed  lies  forty 
miles  down  the  river,  a  complete  wreck,  hav 
ing  run  into  a  snag  and  stove  a  hole  in  her. 
Should  probably  have  lost  our  baggage  and 
perhaps  been  injured  if  we  had  been  aboard." 
At  Sioux  City  Dr.  Kimball  and  the  Major 
waited  ten  days  for  another  boat  and  amused 
themselves  in  the  mean  time  with  hunting  and 
fishing.  The  young  enthusiast  writes  to  his 


36  A  SOLDIER-DOCTOR 

anxious  mother —  "I  would  n't  exchange  this 
free,  breezy,  adventurous  life  for  the  most 
luxurious  idleness. "  And  this  spirit  of  youth 
Dr.  Kimball  never  lost. 

The  journey  through  the  Western  country 
was  one  long  delight.  The  windings  of  the  Mis 
souri  presented  .every  variety  of  scenery:  the 
bleak  and  barren  Black  Hills  and  Big  Horn 
Mountains — known  then  only  to  the  Indians 
—  the  dry  sagebrush-covered  plains  and  occa 
sional  rich  river  bottoms,  showing  the  possi 
bilities  of  the  soil  when  subjected  to  irrigation. 
Glimpses  of  savage  Indians  along  the  shores, 
of  antelopes  and  herds  of  buffalo  on  the  hills, 
made  the  progress  as  enticing  to  the  lover  of 
outdoors  as  Colonel  Roosevelt's  railroad  trips 
through  the  African  hunting  fields.  Probably 
fewer  settlements  and  settlers  were  to  be  seen 
from  the  armored  decks  of  the  steamboat 
Miner  on  the  Missouri  in  1867  than  are  to  be 
seen  to-day  in  East  Africa  or  in  the  Valley  of 
the  Amazon. 

At  last,  in  August,  1867,  the  party  reached 


FORT  BUFORD  37 

Fort  Buford,  in  the  "land  of  the  Dacotahs." 
As  Fort  Buford  was  a  type  of  all  the  early 
Western  forts,  now  mostly  abandoned,  I  copy 
Dr.  Kimball's  own  account  of  its  history,  and 
the  life  there.  Like  all  our  frontier  forts  Bu 
ford  was  surrounded  by  a  wooden  stockade 
only,  which  enclosed  the  adobe  structures; 
on  one  side  of  the  square  the  enlisted  men's 
quarters;  opposite  them,  the  officers'  quar 
ters;  west,  the  hospital  and  storeroom;  east, 
the  bakery,  magazine,  and  blacksmith's  shop ; 
and  beyond,  the  stables  and  corral  for  the 
cattle.  It  was  this  precious  herd  of  cattle 
which  was  the  envy  of  the  hungry  and  thievish 
Indians;  and  it  was  this  corral  (cattle  pen) 
which  kept  the  garrison  under  arms  and  the 
trumpeter  ready  to  sound  the  "long  roll"  at 
any  moment.  The  little  group  of  Indian  tepees 
outside  the  stockade  was  the  camp  of  the 
friendly  Indian  scouts ;  for  our  officers  and  our 
Army  have  always  made  friends  among  the 
Indians.  Here  is  what  the  doctor  wrote  of 
Buford  and  its  Indian  neighbors:  — 


38  A  SOLDIER-DOCTOR 

"In  1830  the  Northwest  Fur  Company  es 
tablished  in  Montana,  on  the  left  bank  of  the 
Upper  Missouri,  two  miles  above  its  conflu 
ence  with  the  Yellowstone  River,  a  trading- 
post  which  was  named  Fort  Union.  Situated 
on  the  grazing-ground  of  countless  herds  of 
buffalo,  and  surrounded  by  numerous  Indian 
tribes  engaged  in  hunting,  the  location  of  the 
post  for  purposes  of  trade  was  admirable.  The 
white  men  engaged  in  the  fur-trade  in  these 
distant  regions  were  little  given  to  literary  pur 
suits,  and  have  left  but  scanty  material  for  the 
historian.  But  from  such  accounts  as  have 
come  down  to  us  relative  to  the  aborigines,  at 
the  time  of  the  establishment  of  Fort  Union, 
and  the  course  of  events  during  the  ensuing 
thirty  years,  it  would  seem  that  history  had 
but  repeated  itself,  and  that  instead  of  relat 
ing  tales  of  early  days  on  the  Atlantic  Coast, 
Washington  Irving  might  have  had  a  prophe 
tic  vision  of  the  Sioux  and  Assiniboines  of  the 
Upper  Missouri  in  the  middle  of  the  nineteenth 
century  when  he  wrote:  'All  the  world  knows 


FORT  BUFORD  39 

the  lamentable  state  in  which  these  poor  sav 
ages  were  found,  not  only  deficient  in  the  com 
forts  of  life,  but  what  is  still  worse,  most  pite- 
ously  and  unfortunately  blind  to  the  miseries 
of  their  situation.  But  no  sooner  did  the  be 
nevolent  inhabitants  of  the  East  behold  their 
sad  condition  than  they  immediately  went  to 
work  to  ameliorate  and  improve  it.  They  intro 
duced  among  them  rum,  gin,  brandy,  and  the 
other  comforts  of  life,  and  it  is  astonishing  how 
soon  the  poor  savages  learned  to  estimate 
those  blessings:  they  likewise  made  known  to 
them  a  thousand  remedies  by  which  the  most 
inveterate  diseases  are  alleviated  and  healed, 
and  that  they  might  comprehend  the  benefit 
and  enjoy  the  comforts  of  these  medicines 
they  previously  introduced  among  them  the 
diseases  which  they  were  calculated  to  cure/ 
One  of  the  earliest  recorded  deeds  of  Fort 
Union  of  which  we  have  any  knowledge  relates 
to  the  establishment  of  a  still  for  the  manu 
facture  of  whiskey;  corn  [for  this  purpose 
being  procured  from  the  Mandans  and  Rees, 


40  A  SOLDIER-DOCTOR 

living  about  two  hundred  miles  down  the 
river. 

"The  Indian  tribes  resorting  to  Fort  Union 
to  trade  were  the  Sioux,  Assiniboines,  Crows, 
Crees,  Arichavees,  Mandans,  and  Gros  Ven- 
tres.  Of  all  these  the  Sioux  appear  to  have  suf 
fered  least  from  contact  with  the  whites. 
While  many  tribes  were  decimated  by  small 
pox  and  other  diseases,  and  despoiled  of  their 
wealth  of  horses  and  robes  by  the  traffic  in 
whiskey,  the  Sioux  appear  in  great  measure 
to  have  avoided  both  physical  and  moral  con 
tagion.  They  held  themselves  aloof  from  the 
white  intruders  and  tolerated  them  as  evils 
necessary  to  secure  the  coveted  articles  of 
sugar,  coffee,  tobacco,  and  gunpowder. 

"Just  what  relations  subsisted  during  all 
these  years  between  Fort  Union  and  the  Unk- 
papas  it  would  be  difficult  to  ascertain.  That 
these  relations  were  at  least  strained  is  evi 
dent  from  the  remarks  of  Bear's  Rib,  an  aged 
chief  of  the  Unkpapas.  He  had  become  in  his 
declining  years  a  friend  of  the  whites,  and  had 


FORT  BUFORD  41 

betaken  himself  to  government  rations  at  the 
Indian  Agency  at  Fort  Rice,  D.T.  But  a  few 
days  before  his  death,  in  1866,  he  made  the 
following  address  to  his  brother,  to  his  son, 
then  aged  about  eight  years,  and  to  the  Agent 
at  Fort  Rice:  — 

"'Brother,  a  voice  from  the  spirit  land  has 
called  for  me.  Before  I  go  I  wish  you  all  to 
hear  my  words.  I  know  you  will.  My  counsel 
is  to  be  friends  with  the  whites,  and  the  great 
men  of  the  whites  will  help  you  in  times  of 
need.  But  above  all  things,  when  I  am  no 
more,  I  desire  you  not  to  mourn  about  the 
place  where  I  lie,  as  is  the  custom  of  our 
people,  —  the  burial  place  provided  me  by  my 
friends,  the  whites,  —  but  visit  it  quietly,  and 
when  you  do  so  remember  my  words,  and 
when  my  people  come  in,  tell  them  where  I 
lie  and  what  I  said.  My  spirit  will  hear  your 
words,  and  let  not  one  of  them  think  my 
wishes  are  not  for  their  good.  To  those  who 
are  so  foolish  as  to  think  they  can  master  and 
rule  the  whites,  let  their  bows  be  at  once  un- 


42  A  SOLDIER-DOCTOR 

strung,  and  listen  to  one  who  knows  and  feels 
only  good  from  the  whites.  My  son  cannot 
hear  my  words,  but,  brother,  you  do,  and 
when  he  grows  up  repeat  to  him  these  re 
quests/ 

"In  July,  1866,  the  site  for  the  future  Fort 
Buford  was  selected;  on  the  left  bank  of  the 
Missouri  about  a  mile  below  the  mouth  of  the 
Yellowstone,  and  three  miles  east  from  Fort 
Union.  Camp  was  pitched  here  and  work  be 
gun.  A  sawmill  which  had  been  brought  was 
put  in  operation,  logs  were  cut,  and  a  plot  of 
ground  was  speedily  enclosed  with  a  stockade, 
within  which  were  erected  the  quarters  neces 
sary  for  the  shelter  of  troops.  Opposition  was 
encountered  from  the  first,  but  not  of  a  vigor 
ous  character  until  late  in  the  fall,  the  elite  of 
the  Sioux  warriors,  fortunately  for  the  new 
post,  having  been  occupied  with  the  Fort 
Phil  Kearny  massacre  and  similar  enterprises. 
At  length,  in  October,  Sitting  Bull  appeared 
on  the  scene.  Henceforward  the  situation  be 
came  serious.  He  sent  orders  to  the  garrison 


FORT  BUFORD  43 

to  leave  the  country  at  once,  and  proclaimed 
his  uncompromising  hostility.  The  work  of 
procuring  wood  for  the  winter's  use  was 
carried  on  with  the  utmost  difficulty. 

"  During  the  winter,  reports  found  their  way 
into  the  Eastern  newspapers,  stating  that  Fort 
Buford  had  been  captured,  its  garrison  mas 
sacred,  and  that  the  wife  of  the  Commandant, 
bound  to  a  horse,  had  disappeared. 

"In  July,  1867  [date  of  Dr.  Kimball's  ar 
rival],  the  garrison  was  increased  by  the  ad 
dition  of  four  companies  of  infantry,  of  about 
one  hundred  men  each,  thus  raising  the 
strength  of  the  command  to  a  little  over  five 
hundred  men.  The  troops  were  also  armed 
with  breech-loading  rifles  in  place  of  the  old 
muzzle-loading  muskets  hitherto  in  use.  In 
consequence  of  these  changes,  the  chances  of 
victory  for  the  Sioux  warriors  were  seriously 
diminished.  Ceaseless  watch  and  guard  over 
the  fort  was,  however,  none  the  less  maintained. 

"One  afternoon  in  August,  the  Colonel's 
cow  having  strayed  a  few  yards  too  far,  was 


44  A  SOLDIER-DOCTOR 

trussed  with  arrows  by  Indians  concealed  in 
a  coulee,  and  immediately  afterward  a  war 
party  of  about  a  dozen  savages  mounted  on 
ponies  showed  themselves  on  a  small  rise  of 
ground  scarcely  a  thousand  yards  from  the 
fort,  where  they  performed  a  pantomime  of 
gestures  expressing  contempt  and  defiance, 
and  rode  off  toward  the  hills.  Twenty  mounted 
soldiers  started  as  soon  as  possible  in  pursuit, 
with  wholly  negative  results.  War  parties 
continued  constantly  to  hover  around,  and  the 
smallest  diminution  of  watchfulness  on  the 
part  of  the  squads  engaged  in  gathering  wood 
and  hay  was  almost  certain  to  be  sharply  re 
proved  by  a  sudden  shower  of  arrows  from 
thicket  or  ravine. 

"Messages  from  Sitting  Bull  were  received 
from  time  to  time  announcing  that  at  no  dis 
tant  day  Fort  Buford  was  to  be  destroyed 
from  the  face  of  the  earth." 

The  winters  inside  the  stockade  were  a  com 
pound  of  danger  and  monotony  —  the  usual 


FORT  BUFORD  45 

chances  of  war.  Here  is  a  specimen  day  de 
scribed  in  an  old  letter:  — 

"I  rise  about  eight  A.M.;  and  finish  break 
fast  at  nine  o'clock.  The  next  hour  is  spent 
in  the  hospital  and  from  that  time  until  one 
P.M.  I  am  busy  writing  up  my  reports,  reading 
or  studying.  At  one  o'clock  we  have  lunch,  a 
bowl  of  bread  and  milk  and  a  piece  of  pie,  and 
the  afternoon  is  then  usually  spent  with  my 
horse,  dogs,  and  gun,  and  other  hunters,  on 
the  prairie  or  in  the  woods.  At  five  P.M.  we 
have  dinner,  to  which  I  bring  an  appetite  that 
would  do  honor  to  a  wolf —  and  by  the  way, 
we  have  a  good  cook.  The  evening  is  spent  in 
reading,  writing,  and  visiting." 

A  menu  of  the  officers'  mess  for  a  day  shows 
that  the  afternoon  chase  was  often  success 
ful: - 

Breakfast  —  antelope  chops. 

Dinner      —  Missouri   River  catfish,  prairie 

chicken   (grouse),   and    roast 

buffalo. 
Supper      —  Elk  steak. 


46  A  SOLDIER-DOCTOR 

At  that  time  buffalo  skins  were  the  coin  cur 
rent  of  the  trappers  and  Indians.  "  I  get  a  buf 
falo  robe,  that  in  the  States  would  be  worth 
from  $2Q  to  $30,  for  a  professional  visit  or  pre 
scription."  Skins  of  all  sorts  were  used  for 
clothing.  The  surgeon's  outdoor  winter  dress 
is  humorously  described:  "First  a  pair  of  buf 
falo  overshoes  —  buffalo  hide  with  the  hair  on, 
making  a  shoe  about  two  inches  thick  all 
around,  thus  adding  four  inches  in  length  and 
four  in  breadth  to  my  natural  foot;  gloves 
reaching  nearly  to  my  shoulders,  woolen, 
and  lined  with  deerskin,  a  shaggy  buffalo 
overcoat,  and  bearskin  leggins.  My  cap  is 
made  from  a  beaver's  skin  and  is  the  respect 
able  feature  of  my  outlandish  outfit."  This 
was  a  unique  "fatigue"  uniform  suited  to  the 
Arctic  winters  of  Dakota. 

Dr.  Kimball  always  made  friends  with  the 
Indians,  and  doubtless  did  them  many  a  good 
turn  professionally.  His  interest  in  their  lan 
guage  and  ethnology  grew  from  day  to  day  and 
he  soon  acquired  the  six  hundred  words  of  the 


FORT  BUFORD  47 

Sioux  vocabulary,  and  spoke  fluently!  As  this 
was  the  court  language  of  the  Northern  In 
dians,  he  was  able  to  make  himself  under 
stood  among  several  friendly  tribes  who  often 
visited  Buford  to  trade  and  to  receive  their 
annuities  from  the  Government. 

Among  these  tribes  were  the  Assiniboines 
and  their  relatives.  The  officers  occasionally 
visited  these  Indian  camps  and  the  surgeon 
writes  of  their  reception,  on  one  occasion: 
"The  camp,  composed  of  1500  individuals, 
was  arranged  in  circular  form;  the  tepees  or 
lodges,  built  of  poles  stuck  in  the  ground  and 
coming  together  at  the  top  in  the  form  of  a 
cone,  were  covered  with  buffalo  skins.  Around 
this  circle  they  kept  a  constant  picket,  as  they 
were  in  a  state  of  continual  warfare  with  other 
tribes."  The  furniture  of  these  nomadic  homes 
consisted  of  a  blanket  or  two,  some  robes  and 
skins,  tomahawks,  bows  and  arrows,  bark  cra 
dles,  pipes  and  tobacco-pouches,  paint-boxes, 
and  three  or  four  villainous  wolf-dogs.  The 
Indians  received  the  officers  with  great  dignity 


48  A  SOLDIER-DOCTOR 

and  conducted  them  to  their  chief's  lodge." 
There  he  offered  them  the  peace-pipe  and 
"paw-paw"  (dried  buffalo  meat);  of  course 
they  partook  of  these  dainties,  and  exchanged 
compliments,  briefly,  as  to  the  Great  Father 
at  Washington,  with  execrations  upon  all 
enemies  of  the  Assiniboines.  An  Indian  dance 
followed  —  somewhat  of  a  bore,  I  fancy,  as 
the  rites  and  ceremonies  lasted  an  hour  and  a 
half.  The  guests  were  then  suffered  to  depart, 
"  poorer  as  to  tobacco  and  cigars  but  with  our 
scalps  where  they  belong." 

Dr.  Kimball  again  interested  himself  in 
gardening,  and  under  cultivation,  the  desert 
soil  produced  corn,  cucumbers,  tomatoes,  and 
cabbage  —  potatoes  proved  a  failure.  The 
herd  at  pasture  on  the  hills  furnished  milk  and 
butter  for  the  table.  But  these  pastoral  de 
lights  and  diplomatic  exchanges  with  the  In 
dians  were  sometimes  interrupted  by  war. 

One  fine  August  day  (1868)  the  herd  of 
two  hundred  and  fifty  cattle  was  grazing 
about  a  mile  and  a  half  from  the  fort,  guarded 


FORT  BUFORD  49 

by  twenty-five  cavalrymen.  "All  at  once," 
writes  the  doctor,  "from  half  a  dozen  ravines 
and  on  all  sides  Indians  came  tearing  down  on 
them,  with  their  hideous  yells,  stampeding  the 
herd  and  taking  the  men  by  surprise.  They, 
however,  immediately  rallied  and  fought  an 
overwhelming  force  of  Indians  until  the  troops 
from  the  fort  could  get  there,  which  was  in  a 
very  few  minutes,  as  the  'lookout'  saw  the 
first  dash  and  gave  the  alarm  to  men  —  who 
had  their  guns  ready  at  a  moment's  notice.  A 
mile  and  a  half  was  never  run  more  quickly  by 
a  body  of  footmen.  During  this  time  some  of 
the  Indians  had  been  driving  the  cattle  at  the 
top  of  their  speed  into  the  hills,  or  'bad  lands.' 
And  now  the  fight  became  interesting — the 
liveliest  fight  I  have  seen  since  the  days  of 
the  Rebellion.  These  Indians  were  select  war 
parties  from  several  different  tribes,  —  Sioux, 
Ogallalahs,  Cheyennes,  and  Comanches, — 
all  splendidly  mounted  and  the  best  horsemen 
I  ever  saw.  They  fought  to  cover  the  retreat 
of  the  herd  —  and  several  times  they  charged 


50  A  SOLDIER-DOCTOR 

down  on  us,  forcing  us  to  stand  on  the  defen 
sive,  as  they  outnumbered  us  three  to  one.  It 
was  exciting  in  the  extreme  to  see  the  prairie 
covered  with  those  splendid  horsemen,  hide 
ously  painted,  whooping  and  yelling,  riding 
at  the  top  of  their  speed  right  into  our  fire, 
trying  to  break  our  line.  We  drove  them,  how 
ever,  as  fast  as  infantry  could,  and  recaptured 
between  fifty  and  sixty  of  the  cattle.  One 
Lieutenant  (Lieutenant  Cusick)  with  eight 
mounted  men  made  a  most  gallant  charge,  and 
only  by  what  seems  a  miracle  escaped  with  his 
life.  The  Indians  always  make  extra  exertions 
to  capture  an  officer  and  gave  their  whole 
attention  to  killing  the  Lieutenant;  being 
better  mounted,  they  were  soon  neck  and  neck 
with  him,  shooting  their  arrows  like  hail,  bury 
ing  them  in  his  saddle  and  sending  them  all 
around  him.  For  nearly  half  a  mile  the  break 
neck  race  was  run  until  our  men,  who  were 
coming  up  at  a  double-quick,  got  within  range, 
when  an  Indian  struck  the  Lieutenant  on  the 
back  with  a  war  club  —  a 'coup' — and  re- 


FORT  BUFORD  51 

treated.  The  Indians  fairly  won  the  day  in 
this  fight,  for  they  made  off  with  two  hun 
dred  cattle,  leaving  the  garrison  to  face  a 
winter  with  meat  once  a  week  only,  and 
scant  supplies  of  milk  and  butter." 

It  seems  a  great  blunder  in  tactics  to  have 
garrisoned  Fort  Buford  chiefly  with  infantry, 
when  the  fort  was  surrounded  by  hostile  In 
dians,  notably  the  best  riders  in  the  world. 
Fortunately  for  the  garrison,  the  tribes  were 
as  yet  unarmed  with  the  rifle.  The  surgeon 
made  at  Buford  careful  and  laborious  studies 
of  arrow  wounds,  only  to  find,  before  his 
book  was  ready  for  publication,  that  the  In 
dians  were  all  furnished  with  the  white  man's 
weapons. 

Invariably  Dr.  Kimball  discovered  the  best 
traits  of  his  Indian  neighbors.  His  knowledge 
of  their  language  and  his  gentle  manners  in 
spired  their  confidence,  and  induced  them  to 
speak  out  to  him.  One  old  chief,  Red  Stone, 
thus  expounded  to  the  surgeon  the  tribe's  re 
ligious  creed.  "There  is,"  said  he,  "a  great 


52  A  SOLDIER-DOCTOR 

spirit  —  Wakon  —  who  made  the  earth.  He 
is  awake  and  looking  after  his  children  during 
the  summer,  and  sleeps  during  the  winter  and 
forgets  them  and  lets  them  get  cold.  In  the 
moon  of  the  falling  leaf,  before  he  composes 
himself  to  his  winter  sleep,  he  fills  his  great 
pipe  and  takes  a  long  smoke ;  the  balmy  clouds 
float  over  the  hills  and  woodlands,  filling  the 
air  with  the  haze  of  the  Indian  summer/'  Red 
Stone  is  puzzled  by  the  white  man's  conduct 
as  compared  with  his  beliefs : "  If  a  man  is  poor 
among  the  whites,"  said  he,  "none  of  you 
notice  him  or  give  him  anything,  but  treat  him 
like  a  dog;  whereas  a  Dakota  gives  his  poor 
neighbor  meat,  he  gives  him  horses,  he  makes 
his  heart  glad.  Wak-k-tesh!  the  whites  are  very 
strange."  No  wonder  that  the  story  of  our 
double-dealings  with  these  savages  has  been 
called  a  "  century  of  dishonor ' ' ;  no  wonder  that 
the  guileless  Indian  thinkers  were  confused  by 
the  contradiction  between  our  words  and  our 
doings.  "If  the  whites/'  reasons  Red  Stone, 
"believe  there  is  a  good  place  for  the  good 


FORT  BUFORD  53 

people  and  a  bad  place  for  the  bad,  why  are 
the  white  men  all  so  bad?" 

But  not  every  Indian  found  the  white  men 
"so  bad."  Hear  this  story  of  Crow  Chief,  a 
celebrated  Mandan  chief.  His  people,  unlike 
most  of  their  nomadic  neighbors,  lived  in 
houses  of  mud  and  logs  which  they  left  only 
for  long  hunts.  Their  village  was  about  two 
hundred  and  fifty  miles  below  Fort  Buford  on 
the  Missouri.  The  old  chief,  however,  had 
outlived  his  days  of  hunting  and  war,  and  one 
icy  day  in  December  was  found  by  the  doctor 
and  a  young  lieutenant  lying  helpless  on  the 
prairie.  The  man  was  really  a  victim  of  tuber 
culosis,  but  with  good  food,  medicine,  and 
hospital  care  he  began  to  improve.  He  became 
able  to  walk  about  the  garrison,  constantly 
telling  how  kindly  he  had  been  treated  by  the 
whites.  But  at  last  his  strength  suddenly 
failed  and  the  day  of  his  death  (February  21, 
1869)  he  sent  for  his  two  rescuers  and  in  In 
dian  fashion  addressed  them  formally.  Here  is 
the  translation.  (Indian  orators  who  are  not 


54  A  SOLDIER-DOCTOR 

skilled  narrators  often  grow  tiresome,  but  they 
have  great  moments.) 

"Soldier  chiefs,  my  brothers,"  said  the  dy 
ing  Mandan,  "in  the  moon  when  the  wild 
geese  were  flying  southward,  I  left  the  village 
and  started  with  my  people  on  their  winter 
hunt.  I  was  feeble  then,  having  this  bad 
cough  which  teases  me  so  much,  but  thought 
I  should  get  better  hunting  on  the  prairie  and 
drinking  the  warm  blood  of  the  deer  and  buf 
falo.  But  I  could  not  hunt ;  the  game  all  ran 
away  from  me  and  laughed  at  me,  and  I  had  to 
lie  in  the  camp  and  let  my  young  men  hunt. 
We  slept  fourteen  nights  from  our  village  be 
fore  we  saw  the  smoke  of  the  white  soldier's 
village  [Fort  Buford],  and  my  body  was  more 
sick  than  when  we  started.  So  when  my  people 
decided  to  go  farther  and  my  son  brought  me 
a  horse  and  told  me  to  ride  in  company  with 
the  women,  I  concluded  to  go  no  farther  with 
my  people,  but  told  them  I  would  go  and  live 
with  Medicine  Bear  until  they  returned. 
Medicine  Bear  received  me  kindly  [Greek  hos- 


FORT  BUFORD  55 

pitality  was  no  better],  and  gave  me  a  corner 
in  his  lodge,  but  he  was  poor.  I  had  to  sleep 
on  the  naked  ground,  and  every  night  this  bad 
cough,  which  teases  me  so  much,  grew  worse. 
At  last  buffalo  were  getting  scarce  and  Medi 
cine  Bear  with  his  people  decided  to  move.  I 
was  too  weak  to  go  with  them,  and  I  resolved 
to  go  to  the  traders  and  see  if  they  would  be 
hospitable  to  a  poor  sick  old  man  who  had 
always  been  a  friend  to  the  whites.  The  trad 
ers  kept  me  one  night,  and  then  next  morning, 
as  I  had  no  robes  to  trade,  they  told  me  to  go 
away  and  not  to  trouble  them.  My  heart  was 
very  bad,  and  I  started  across  the  prairie 
without  anything  to  eat,  going  in  the  direction 
of  my  people.  I  traveled  until  the  sun  was 
far  in  the  west,  and  then,  being  very  weak  and 
hungry  and  knowing  that  my  nation  was  a 
long  distance  off,  I  lay  down  on  the  prairie  to 
die,  when  you,  soldier  chiefs,  my  brothers, 
found  me.  I  was  at  first  afraid  of  the  soldiers 
—  they  looked  so  fierce  and  stern  with  their 
bright  guns  and  long  knives ;  but  now  I  know 


56  A  SOLDIER-DOCTOR 

that  the  soldiers  are  the  only  men  that  have 
big  hearts.  You  brought  me  to  your  lodge 
and  said  kind  words  to  me  and  I  have  slept 
in  a  good  bed,  better  than  I  ever  expected  to 
lie  in ;  I  have  had  plenty  to  eat  and  drink  and 
good  medicine  to  take.  My  brothers,  I  am 
very  thankful;  I  am  now  about  to  die.  The 
Great  Spirit  wants  me  and  I  must  leave  you. 
I  would  like  to  be  buried  with  my  war  dress 
wrapped  around  me.  My  medal  that  the  Great 
Father  gave  me,  I  wish  to  be  given  to  my 
son  when  he  returns,  that  he  may  look  at  it 
and  be  a  friend  to  the  whites,  as  his  father  has 
been.  My  pipe  —  the  best  pipe  of  the  Man- 
dans,  which  has  been  smoked  with  my  nation 
—  I  give  to  the  Medicine  Man,  the  soldier 
chief,  my  brother.  [I  don't  believe  Dr.  Kim- 
ball  ever  attained  any  higher  rank  or  title  than 
that !]  When  he  smokes  it,  let  him  think  that 
the  Mandan  chief  had  a  big  heart  and  was 
thankful.  My  brothers,  I  have  but  one  more 
request  to  make  of  you  and  I  shall  not  take  it 
hard  if  you  cannot  grant  it.  It  is  dark  here,  I 


FORT  BUFORD  57 

cannot  see  the  fire  through  that  iron  [the  air 
tight  stove  of  the  hospital  ward].  In  an  In 
dian  lodge  they  will  keep  a  bright  fire  burning 
all  night  and  I  think  it  would  do  me  good  and 
make  my  heart  warm.  I  would  like  to  be  car 
ried  to  an  Indian  lodge  where  I  can  die  look 
ing  at  the  fire.  My  brothers,  I  shall  look  for 
you  in  the  other  country.  Shake  hands  with 
me.  How!  How!" 

All  this  I  find  in  fading  pencil  lines  written 
down  by  the  "soldier  chief"  at  the  time.  He 
adds :  u  Crow  Chief  was  sent  in  an  ambulance 
to  an  Indian  lodge,  as  he  requested,  and  placed 
in  a  corner  where  he  could  see  the  fire  burning 
in  the  center  of  the  wigwam.  In  this  position 
he  died.  I  have  seldom  been  more  interested 
than  I  was  in  the  old  man,  or  mourned  a  per 
son  more  sincerely.  He  was  by  nature  a  great 
man  and  a  gentleman.  Every  morning  when 
I  visited  him,  he  would  manifest  great  pleasure 
and,  placing  his  hand  on  my  shoulder,  would 
almost  caress  me.  He  is  among  the  last  of  a 


58  A  SOLDIER-DOCTOR 

noble  race  —  far  the  Mandans  are  now  almost 
obliterated  by  war  and  smallpox.  They  are, 
in  many  respects,  unlike  other  Indians ;  many 
of  them  have  light  hair  and  blue  eyes  and  a 
pleasant,  kind  expression.  They  have  never 
been  enemies  to  the  whites.  The  Mandan  pipe 
I  would  not  part  with  for  many  a  surgeon's 
fee.  By  virtue  of  owning  it,  I  am  now  a  Man- 
dan  chief  and  can  speak  with  authority  in  the 
tribe."  That  rash  saying—  "The  only  good 
Indian  is  a  dead  Indian"  is  surely  belied  by 
the  story  of  Crow  Chief. 

The  great  changes  of  that  day,  the  overland 
telegraph  and  railroad,  can  be  traced  in  the 
Indian's  expressions.  "Big  medicine"  means 
to  them  anything  mysterious,  wonder-working 
or  supernatural.  Thus  an  Indian  from  the 
Platte  (Military  Department,  Nebraska)  re 
ported  that  the  whites  over  in  that  country 
had  got  "big  medicine"  to  kill  Indians  and 
game.  "It  is,"  he  said,  "a  long,  small  iron, 
stretched  on  poles,  away  across  the  country. 
You  can  put  your  ear  to  the  pole  and  hear  the 


FORT  BUFORD  59 

medicine  humming  along/'  He  added  that  he 
and  some  others  were  going  to  cut  it  down, 
but  left  after  they  had  worked  a  short  time 
for  a  big  storm  came  up  and  fire  began  to  run 
along  the  iron  and  it  commenced  curling  up. 
"They  have  got  a  steamboat  over  there  that 
runs  on  the  ground;  now  you  see  it  and  now 
it  is  gone.  Best  horses  can't  keep  up  with  it." 
The  last  word  on  aviation  is  not  more  mag 
ical  to  us  than  the  wire  and  the  rail  to  the 
Dakotas  of  the  sixties. 

Buford  mails  were  very  uncertain ;  the  bags 
were  often  captured  by  the  Indians;  and  on 
one  occasion,  after  three  months  of  waiting,  the 
doctor  received  nothing  but  a  torn  medical 
journal  from  the  railroad  mail  pouch !  His  dis 
appointment  perhaps  accounts  for  an  out 
burst  of  wrath  in  one  of  his  letters  to  his  fam 
ily ;  he  writes  of  this  "forsaken  land,  this  sweet 
country  which  ought  to  be  left  to  the  wolves 
and  red-skins,  at  least  until  we  can  get  letters 
from  civilization  in  less  than  three  months." 
In  general,  however,  he  was  thoroughly  con- 


60  A  SOLDIER-DOCTOR 

tented,  absorbed  in  his  professional  work  and 
his  studies  of  climate,  soil,  and  people. 

It  was  at  Buford  that  Dr.  Kimball  secured 
the  autobiography  of  Sitting  Bull  —  in  pic 
ture  writing.  This  precious  "manuscript "  was 
sent  to  the  Curator  of  the  Army  Medical  Mu 
seum  at  Washington,  and  is  there  preserved 
in  the  archives.  The  book  was  brought  into 
Fort  Buford  by  a  Yanktonnais  Sioux  and  of 
fered  for  sale  and  purchased  for  provisions 
worth  $1.50.  The  doctor's  keen  eye  saw  the 
ethnological  value  of  the  rude  drawings,  and 
with  the  aid  of  the  vender,  other  interpreters, 
and  his  own  knowledge  of  Indian  lore  and  lan 
guage,  deciphered  the  story  and  prepared  an 
index.  The  sheets  upon  which  the  drawings 
were  made  were  the  muster-roll  blanks  of  the 
3  ist  U.S.  Infantry  and  were  doubtless  stolen 
by  Sitting  Bull  upon  some  raid.  "Since  the 
establishment  of  Fort  Buford  in  1866," 
writes  Dr.  Kimball,  in  his  introduction  to  the 
find,  "  Sitting  Bull,  at  the  head  of  from  sixty  to 
seventy  warriors,  had  been  the  terror  of  mail- 


SITTING   BULL 
From  a  photograph  by  O,  S.  Goff,  1881 


FORT  BUFORD  61 

carriers,  wood-choppers,  and  small  parties  in 
the  vicinity  of  the  post,  and  from  one  hundred 
to  two  hundred  miles  from  it  either  way  up 
and  down  the  Missouri  River.  During  the  time 
from  1866  to  1870,  when  the  autobiography 
was  written,  this  band  had  several  times  de 
stroyed  the  mail  and  had  stolen  and  run  off 
with  over  two  hundred  head  of  cattle  and 
killed  a  score  of  white  men  in  the  immediate 
vicinity  of  the  Fort.  .  .  .  The  word  'coup/ 
which  occurs  frequently  in  the  index,  has  been 
appropriated  by  the  Sioux  from  the  French 
(Sioux  itself  being  the  French  name  for  Da 
kota)  \  'Counting  coup'  signifies  the  striking 
of  an  enemy,  either  dead  or  alive,  with  a  stick, 
bow,  lance,  or  other  weapon.  The  number  of 
'coups'  counted  are  enumerated  along  with 
the  number  of  horses  stolen  and  scalps  taken 
in  summing  up  the  brave  deeds  of  a  warrior." 
The  preface,  index,  and  woodcuts  of  the  draw 
ings  were  published  by  the  "New  York  Her 
ald"  in  1876. 
One  of  the  sports  of  the  Buford  sojourn  was 


62  A  SOLDIER-DOCTOR 

the  buffalo  run ;  "  a  helter-skelter  race  of  miles ; 
a  yell  and  we  were  off,  —  who  that  joined  in 
such  a  chase  can  ever  forget  it!"  It  is  not 
strange  that  the  officers,  shut  within  their 
stockade,  cut  off  from  newspapers,  letters, 
news  of  the  outside  world,  were  ready  to  risk 
their  lives  for  such  a  chase.  An  Indian  cap 
tured  in  a  raid  on  Fort  Buford,  confessed  to 
the  surgeon  and  his  friends,  who  had  ridden 
out  in  search  of  game  the  day  before:  "We 
should  have  killed  you  all  yesterday,  but  big 
chief  was  not  ready/' 

Dr.  Kimball's  many-sided  life  in  the  little 
Buford  garrison  often  included  the  dignity  of 
Judge-Advocate  in  courts  martial.  His  trained 
mind  and  judgment  enabled  him  both  to 
prosecute  and  to  advise.  "How  he  would 
wrestle  with  death!"  said  a  friend.  With 
the  same  zeal  and  wisdom  he  could  deal 
with  messroom  quarrels  and  camp  misde 
meanors. 

These  tales  of  Buford  explain  why  we  named 
our  mountain  home  in  the  quiet  green  Cats- 


FORT  BUFORD  63 

kills,  "Buford  Lodge."  The  name  "Buford," 
once  associated  with  danger  and  daring,  now 
recalls  only  happy  memories  of  "dangers 
pass'd." 


Ill 

THE  YELLOWSTONE    EXPEDITION 

Survey  of  proposed  route  of  the  Northern  Pacific  Rail 
road  —  Chief  medical  officer  under  General  Terry  and 
General  Stanley,  in  command  of  three  thousand  men  — 
Indian  fights  —  General  (Lieutenant-Colonel)  Custer  — 
Journal. 

"!N  all  respects  Dr.  Kimball  has  been  faithful, 
upright,  and  conscientious,  discharging  all  his 
duties  with  signal  ability  and  beloved  by 
those  with  whom  he  has  served.  .  .  . 

"We  well  know  how  important  is  that 
column  in  the  Merit  Roll  designated  'General 
Aptitude';  and  Dr.  Kimball  fulfills  all  its  re 
quirements/'  (Extract  from  an  official  letter 
of  the  Medical  Director,  Department  of  the 
Dakotah,  written  after  the  young  medical 
officer  had  passed  his  second  examination  for 
promotion  in  1869  and  become  Surgeon-Cap 
tain.) 

In  1869  occurred  his  marriage,  July  15,  to 
Miss  Sarah  Eddy,  of  Albany,  New  York.  To- 


YELLOWSTONE  EXPEDITION     65 

gether  they  returned  to  Fort  Buford,  where 
they  spent  some  happy  months  in  their  little 
adobe  quarters. 

Little  Rock,  Arkansas,  was  the  next  station. 
The  three  years  spent  there  (1870-73)  were 
uneventful;  the  climate  seemed  languorous 
and  the  duty  tame  after  wind-swept  plains 
and  Indian  wars.  When,  therefore,  orders 
were  received  to  take  the  field,  they  were 
welcome. 

The  Yellowstone  Expedition  was  organized 
to  lay  out  and  survey  the  route  of  the  North 
ern  Pacific  Railroad,  and  incidentally  to  select 
new  sites  for  army  posts.  The  military  escort 
consisted  of  one  regiment  of  cavalry,  the 
famous  Seventh,  commanded  by  General  — 
then  Lieutenant-Colonel  —  Custer,  and  por 
tions  of  four  regiments  of  infantry,  under 
General  Stanley  and  General  Terry.  These 
officers  were  warm  personal  friends  of  Dr. 
Kimball,  and  it  was  at  the  special  request  of 
General  Terry  and  Colonel  Custer  that  he  was 
ordered  to  this  duty.  It  was  a  great  responsi- 


66  A  SOLDIER-DOCTOR 

bility  for  a  young  man  in  his  thirties  to  have 
entire  charge  of  the  medical  department  of  so 
large  an  expedition.  The  "Captain-Doctor" 
eagerly  undertook  the  work  and  successfully 
prepared  a  medical  outfit  for  three  thousand 
men  who  were  to  spend  four  months  cutting 
their  way  through  an  almost  unexplored  and 
hostile  country. 

Again  the  Upper  Missouri  was  followed  as 
far  north  as  Fort  Rice,  where  the  column  left 
the  river  and  struck  out  into  the  unknown. 
The  route  lay  through  the  valley  of  the  Yellow 
stone  at  its  junction  with  Powder  River  and 
onward.  In  May  they  had  reached  Fort  Sully, 
South  Dakota.  There  the  surgeon  wrote: 
"Camp  on  Oka-bo-gie  Creek.  Cold,  bad 
weather  —  continue  to  wear  our  overcoats 
every  day  while  in  the  saddle  and  to  sit  around 
rousing  camp-fires  in  the  evening,  but  I  like 
it  much  better  than  the  sunny  South  [Arkan 
sas],  hot,  murky,  and  malarious." 

At  this  point  the  party  was  in  sight  of 
the  Black  Hills.  The  column  advanced  cau- 


YELLOWSTONE  EXPEDITION    67 

tiously  through  country  occupied  by  tribes 
who  were  said  to  be  "always  as  bad  as  they 
could  be."  The  command  was  arranged  with 
a  column  of  infantry  in  front  and  in  the 
rear,  and  a  column  of  cavalry  on  either  side 
of  the  train.  The  Indians  at  first  kept  in  the 
background,  though  small  war  parties  were 
occasionally  seen.  On  went  the  doughty  col 
umn,  two  hundred  and  fifty  miles'  march,  until 
they  arrived  in  July  at  the  Yellowstone  River. 
There  they  met  a  steamboat  with  further 
supplies  and  were  ferried  across  the  river,  the 
work  of  a  week.  Thence  the  route  was  up  the 
Yellowstone  Valley,  two  hundred  miles  to 
Pompey's  Pillar,  then  northward  about  fifty 
miles  to  the  Mussel  Shell  River,  a  tributary 
of  the  Missouri,  and  back  again  to  Fort  Rice. 
Do  the  travelers  on  luxurious  overland  trains 
or  dwellers  in  prosperous  towns  ever  think  of 
the  hard  fighting  and  campaigning  that  made 
possible  their  comfort  and  good  fortune  ?  Yet 
the  same  landscape  meets  the  eye  to-day,  bar 
ring,  perhaps,  something  of  its  savage  quiet 


68  A  SOLDIER-DOCTOR 

—  "the  stream  [Yellowstone]  broad  and  rapid, 
dotted  with  islands  of  cedar  and  fir  trees, 
winding  through  broad  savannas  green  with 
waving  grass,  while  bold,  high,  precipitous 
bluffs  destroy  any  tendency  to  tameness." 
Thus  the  doctor  saw  the  river  in  1873. 

The  Indians  soon  lost  their  first  awe  of  the 
large  body  of  troops,  and  again  and  again 
harassed  the  expedition.  "After  a  march  of 
five  hundred  miles,  fighting  Indians  and  moun 
tain  passes,  we  are  back  at  the  crossing  of  the 
Yellowstone.  The  medical  service  during  the 
war  never  labored  under  the  difficulties  we 
have  had  to  encounter,  cut  off  as  we  have  been 
from  our  base  of  supplies  for  nearly  seven 
weeks.  I  have  had  a  case  of  fractured  thigh 
produced  by  a  bullet;  we  transported  the  pa 
tient  about  three  hundred  and  fifty  miles,  and 
he  is  doing  well."  The  fight  was  described  by 
the  late  Samuel  J.  Barrows,  then  a  young  war 
correspondent  of  the  "New  York  Tribune," 
with  the  Yellowstone  Expedition.  "  It  was  at 
a  critical  time  in  the  engagement,"  he  writes, 


YELLOWSTONE  EXPEDITION    69 

"and  Custer,  seeing  that  the  Indians  in  large 
force  had  climbed  the  bluffs  and  were  advanc 
ing  upon  us,  ordered  Braden,  with  a  detach 
ment,  to  take  and  hold  the  bridge  in  front.  It 
was  a  fierce  onslaught  which  the  Sioux  made  on 
this,  one  of  the  key-points  to  the  battle-field. 
But  Braden  and  his  men  held  their  ground 
stubbornly  and  repulsed  the  Indians  with 
steady  fire  until  the  cavalry  charge  came  to 
their  relief;  but  the  brave  lieutenant  fell,  dan 
gerously  wounded  in  the  thigh."  The  jolting 
of  the  ambulance  over  the  untrodden  prairie 
became  unbearable  to  the  wounded  officer,  and 
after  a  day  or  two  of  torture,  he  sent  for  the 
Chief  Surgeon  and  begged  him  to  dispatch 
him.  Dr.  Kimball  calmly  faced  the  situation, 
and  devised  on  the  spot  a  new  species  of  litter. 
A  canvas  stretcher,  hung  between  two  pairs 
of  wheels,  was  drawn  by  a  mule  led  by  a  sol 
dier.  On  this  cot  the  wounded  officer  accom 
plished  his  journey  of  nearly  four  hundred 
miles,  declaring  that  the  change  was  heaven 
after  hell.  He  lives  to  tell  the  story  with 


7o  A  SOLDIER-DOCTOR 

triumph,  never  forgetting  his  indebtedness  to 
surgeon  and  commanding  general. 

Add  to  this  litter  on  wheels  a  motor  and  a 
canvas  top,  and  you  have  the  field  ambulance 
used  to-day  upon  all  the  battle-fields  of  Eu 
rope.  Such  is  the  ingenuity  and  "  prepared 
ness  "  of  the  surgeon's  mind.  A  description  of 
litters  and  ambulances  adopted  by  different 
nations  was  later  much  quoted  from  Dr. 
KimbalFs  article  on  "Transportation  of  the 
Wounded  in  War"  (1898). 

A  few  items  from  his  journal  written  on 
the  march  give  vivid  pictures  of  the  route :  — 

"August,  1873;  eight  miles  through  the 
'Bad  Lands/  Main  features  are  lava,  scoria, 
cactus,  rattlesnakes,  and  prairie  dogs." 

(General  Stanley  states  that  the  expedition 
passed  over  sixty  miles  of  "  Bad  Lands.") 

"Thirteen  barrels  of  whiskey  destroyed  to 
day  —  thank  God ! 

"Custer  Creek  —  discovered  by,  and  named 
for,  him. 

"Frequent  battles  with  Indians.  Custer  in 


YELLOWSTONE  EXPEDITION     71 

advance;  men  often  killed  while  hunting 
outside  the  camp." 

(General  Stanley  says  in  his  report  that 
Custer  always  volunteered  to  lead  the  column.) 

"'Cactus  Camp';  two  men  killed  —  their 
bodies  have  been  brought  along  to-day  from 
last  night's  camp,  to  throw  the  Indians  off  the 
track  of  their  grave :  buried  to-day  at  Retreat, 
in  an  open  place  between  four  large  cotton- 
wood  trees,  Camp  no.  35,  just  below  lower  end 
of  an  island  in  the  Yellowstone ;  both  in  one 
grave,  over  which  the  horses  will  be  picketed 
to-night,  to  pack  the  ground,  and  so  prevent 
discovery  by  Indians;  coffin  consisted  of  a 
wagon-cover. 

"Wolves  made  last  night  hideous. 

"Custer  fighting  Indians. 

"Alarm  and  Long  Roll  [to  arms]  in  night, 
from  Dickey's  camp. 

"August  I3th,  1873:  Killed  fifteen  elk  to 
day. 

"Carried  Braden  on  a  litter  —  by  twelve 
men. 


72  A  SOLDIER-DOCTOR 

"August  isth:  'Pompey's  Pillar' — a  mound 
one  hundred  and  fifty  feet  high,  on  right  bank 
of  the  Yellowstone.  Big  Horn  Mountains  with 
snowy  summits  seen  in  the  distance. 

"Wheeled  litter  constructed  for  Braden 
proves  a  success. 

"August  1 6th:  Indians  stole  in  across  the 
prairie  and  hid  behind '  Pompey's  Pillar'  in  the 
timber.  About  eight  A.M.,  when  the  river-bank 
was  covered  with  men,  many  in  bathing,  the 
Indians  opened  fire  on  them.  The  scampering 
of  naked  men  up  the  hill  was  very  comical. 
After  the  volley,  the  Indians  ran  across  the 
valley  and  got  into  the  hills.  Captain  French 
got  a  bullet  in  his  saddle,  —  nobody  hurt. 

"August  i yth.  Saw  buffalo  to-day;  killed 
several. 

"August  1 8th.  Buffalo  in  thousands.  Herd 
(beef  cattle)  stampeded  again  last  night,  and 
nine  head  have  not  been  recovered.  Four 
thousand  feet  above  the  sea.  Snowy  moun 
tains  and  Judith  Pass  in  view.  Snow  in  sight 
for  several  days. 


YELLOWSTONE  EXPEDITION    73 

"August  iQth.  Mussel  Shell  River,  at  two- 
thirty  P.M.  Countless  buffalo. 

"August  2Oth.  A  fine  river  it  is;  cotton- 
woods,  lots  of  cherries,  and  beaver.  To-day 
we  commence  our  eastward  march — two 
months  out  from  Fort  Rice. 

"August  22d.  Chickens  (prairie) ;  antelope, 
buffalo,  deer,  and  fish  in  our  mess.  Grass 
would  be  good  here,  but  has  everywhere  been 
destroyed  by  the  immense  herds  of  buffalo. 

"August  24th.  Grizzlies  abundant  in  the 
"Cherry  Gardens.' 

"August  26th.  Indians  seen  by  Bloody 
Knife  —  scout. 

"September  ist.  Had  the  last  chicken- 
shooting  of  the  season  on  this  plain  to-day. 
Shot  every  bird  on  the  wing,  and  did  not  miss 
a  shot.  —  Hospital  full. 

"September  3d.  [The  return  journey.]  On 
the  battle-ground  of  Tongue  River.  The  re 
mains  of  Private  John  Ball,  killed  by  Indians 
August  4th,  while  out  hunting,  were  found 
this  P.M.,  and  identified  by  a  pair  of  trousers 


74  A  SOLDIER-DOCTOR 

near  him.  All  that  was  left  was  the  skull  and 
a  portion  of  the  other  bones.  The  man's  flesh 
had  been  eaten  by  wolves  and  the  bones 
cracked  for  the  marrow,  some  being  destroyed 
entirely.  All  that  were  left  were  buried  at 
Retreat  to-day,  on  the  battle-field. 

"Very  good  duck  hunting  —  got  half  a 
dozen  teal. 

"  September  5th.  Wagon  again  upset,  spill 
ing  out  everything ;  did  not  get  into  camp  until 
two  hours  after  the  train.  This  makes  six  times 
I  Ve  had  a  wagon  over  since  leaving  Yankton. 

"September  8th.  Killed  a  fine  buffalo  cow 
this  P.M.  Between  one  and  two  hundred  mules 
escaped  last  night. 

"  Prairie  kept  from  taking  fire  only  by  con 
stant  effort. 

"Best  prairie-chicken  shooting  on  Davis 
Creek,  through  the  'Bad  Lands/  I  ever  saw; 
got  ten. 

"Great  number  of  antelopes  found  dead 
on  the  prairie —  murrain  or  epizootic. 

"Prairie  fire  of  yesterday  put  out  by  the 


YELLOWSTONE  EXPEDITION    75 

rain,  but  has  started  anew  from  Custer's  camp 
of  last  night ;  fire  is  seen  shortly  after  we  make 
camp  coming  toward  us.  By  a  counter-fire  to 
leeward,  and  by  moving  on,  we  can  escape  it. 
"September  22d.  Near  Fort  Abraham  Lin 
coln,  D.T.  Stock  and  men  nearly  worn  out. 
Custer,  with  the  engineers,  arrived  at  six  P.M. 
yesterday." 

An  article  written  fourteen  years  later  by 
Mr.  Barrows,  still  correspondent  of  the  "New 
York  Tribune,"  might  be  called  a  postscript 
to  the  Yellowstone  Expedition  of  1873.  It  is 
dated  West  Point,  New  York:  — 

"As  the  boat  landed  at  West  Point,  a  pleas 
ing  surprise  awaited  us.  The  officer  in  blouse 
and  fatigue  cap  who  came  down  to  meet  the 
crowd  of  visitors  from  the  boat,  seen  from  the 
deck  was  simply  an  officer  in  the  United  States 
Army;  but  when  the  gangplank  was  laid  and 
we  stepped  ashore  and  caught  a  view  of  his 
features  and  heard  the  tones  of  his  voice,  there 
was  no  mistaking  it ;  it  could  not  be  anybody 


76  A  SOLDIER-DOCTOR 

else  —  it  was  Kimball,  without  a  shadow  of 
doubt.  It  speaks  well  for  the  life  of  an  army 
surgeon  that  fourteen  years  had  left  no  traces 
of  care  upon  his  face  and  no  silver  in  his  hair. 
When  you  have  eaten  at  the  same  mess-table, 
morning,  noon,  and  night,  through  a  whole 
campaign  and  marched  together  on  horseback 
hundreds  of  miles  over  the  Western  Plains  and 
camped  in  the  same  sagebrush  and  cactus,  and 
drunk  of  the  same  alkali  water,  and  longed 
together  for  a  good  many  things  that  you 
could  n't  get,  the  memory  of  the  experience  is 
too  well  rubbed  in  to  be  easily  rubbed  out.  One 
impression  made  so  long  ago  was  easily  revived 
and  strengthened, —  namely,  that  the  duties 
of  the  army  surgeon  do  not  necessarily  impair 
the  finer  sensibilities,  and  that  our  friend  with 
the  gold  leaf  on  his  shoulders,  wherever  found, 
-  in  tent,  in  saddle,  or  on  the  piazza  of  his 
home  at  West  Point,  —  was  always  and  for 
ever  in  word  and  deed  a  gentleman." 

That  same  mess-table  of  the  Yellowstone 
party  was  rather  remarkable  for  its  make-up. 


YELLOWSTONE  EXPEDITION     77 

Literally,  the  board  was,  as  the  surgeon  wrote, 
"my  amputating-table,  which  we  carry  along 
in  the  medicine  wagon."  But  this  fact  did  not 
disturb  the  appetites  of  the  convives.  They  were 
six,  including  General  Stanley,  several  young 
lieutenants,  the  war  correspondent,  and  the 
Chief  Surgeon.  As  Mr.  Barrows  wrote,  the 
intimate  camp  life  promoted  good  fellowship 
and  made  some  lasting  friendships. 

At  headquarters  of  the  Expedition  there 
was  a  distinguished  group  of  scientific  men, 
with  the  commanding  generals,  Colonel  Fred 
Grant  and  others.  From  time  to  time  this 
society  was  varied  by  English  guests,  often 
younger  sons  who  were  seeking  their  fortunes 
in  the  Far  West,  or  others  who  were  simply  en 
joying  the  wild  for  its  own  sake.  At  one  time 
there  were  at  headquarters  three  of  these 
high-bred  camp-followers;  among  them  Lord 
Frewen.  Men  like  Morton  Frewen  brought 
into  the  camp  the  culture  and  ideas  of  the  Old 
World;  others,  mere  triflers,  —  good  fellows, 
too,  perhaps,  —  spent  most  of  their  time  over 


78  A  SOLDIER-DOCTOR 

cards  and  cups.  The  doctor  used  to  recall 
laughingly  two  such  comrades.  After  a  long 
bout  one  of  them  rose  in  wrath,  declaring  in 
language  worthy  of  Scott,  "Donald  of  Caith 
ness  ( ?) ;  I  will  cleave  you  to  the  chine  —  if 
-if—!" 

The  last  word  about  the  Yellowstone  coun 
try  was  summed  up  by  the  campaign  poet  in 
the  following  verses :  — 

"AFTER  HOOD" 

"No  clouds,  no  rain, 
No  dew,  no  grain, 

No  night,  no  noon,  no  proper  time  of  day,  * 
No  trees,  no  interrupted  view, 
No  dearth  of  sand  or  distance  blue, 
No  track,  no  path,  no  road,  no  well-known  way, 
No  end  to  plain  and  mound, 
No  scene  but  barren  ground, 
No  end  to  dust  and  heat, 
No  decent  thing  to  eat, 

No  shade,  no  meadow  streams  nor  rivers  clear, 
No  mountains,  no  forests  green, 
No  soft  grasses  to  be  seen, 
No  growth,  no  warmth,  but  three  months  of 
the  year, 


YELLOWSTONE  EXPEDITION     79 

No  buffalo  in  the  land, 
No  mines  or  golden  sand; 

"No  water,  except  in  stagnant  pool, 
No  ice  our  fevered  throats  to  cool, 
No  settlers  on  the  road, 
No  profit  to  make  bonds  good, 
With  no  necessity,  no  purpose,  no  empire's 

way;  — 
Heaven  cut  short  the  No'-thern  Pacific's  day." 

The  verses  may  have  been  written  at  the 
close  of  a  bad  day,  but  we  give  them  with 
apologies  to  the  great  Northwest  and  its 
railway. 


IV 

THE    BLACK  HILLS   AND  THE    BIG  HORN 

Chief  Surgeon  of  the  Indian  campaign  under  General 
Custer,  1876  —  At  Fort  Lincoln,  after  the  battle  of  the 
Big  Horn  —  Fort  Brady,  Sault  Sainte  Marie  —  A  Jesuit 
missionary,  Father  Ferard  —  Ordered  to  Governor's 
Island,  New  York  Harbor. 

THE  "Captain-Doctor's"  next  station  was 
Fort  Randall,  in  South  Dakota:  "The  most 
southerly  of  the  chain  of  military  posts  along 
the  Missouri  River  in  Dakota  Territory,  and 
the  last  one  between  the  hostile  Indians  and 
the  white  settlements  of  Southeast  Dakota 
and  Northern  Nebraska/'  So  he  wrote  in  1875, 
in  a  letter  to  the  "New  York  World,"  for 
the  doctor  found  time,  in  the  midst  of  many 
duties,  to  write  occasional  letters  to  the  New 
York  papers  describing  the  situation  at  these 
frontier  posts.  The  little  garrison  at  Fort 
Randall  was  in  the  midst  of  a  troubled  re 
gion.  Sioux  and  half-Sioux  (Brules)  were  at 
war  among  themselves ;  when  the  enemy  was  a 


BLACK  HILLS  AND  BIG  HORN    81 

tribe  friendly  to  the  United  States,  the  Sioux 
did  not  hesitate  also  "to  rob,  fight,  and  scalp 
their  nearest  neighbors  —  sometimes  poor, 
hard-working  settlers,  sometimes  the  United 
States  troops  themselves.  The  logic  of  the 
Brule  is  that  the  Great  Father  at  Washington 
feeds  him  because  he  fears  him,  and  he  looks 
with  a  patronizing  air  on  Wa-See-Chee,  the 
white  man  (literally,  'the  man  that  works'), 
who  is  a  pretty  good  fellow  so  long  as  he  pro 
vides  plenty  of  rations,  but  is  to  be  stimulated 
in  case  of  any  remissness  by  a  raid  of  robbers, 
murderers,  and  scalpers;  and,  in  fact,  to  be 
raided  upon  once  in  a  while  on  general  Indian 
principles." 

The  familiar  raid  was  sometimes  varied  by 
a  day  like  this  at  Fort  Randall:  after  twenty 
miles  in  the  saddle,  the  doctor  was  met  by  a 
telegram  summoning  him  to  the  Ponca  Agency 
on  account  of  an  outbreak  of  cholera.  Then 
followed  a  night  ride  on  a  wild  Mexican  mus 
tang  pony,  through  swarms  of  gnats  and 
mosquitoes,  over  a  swampy  and  uncertain  road. 


82  A  SOLDIER-DOCTOR 

After  several  hair-breadth  escapes,  "we  made 
it  at  last,"  he  writes,  "fifty-six  miles  in  the 
saddle,  a  bag  of  prairie  chickens  and  thirty- 
six  dollars  for  a  day's  work." 

How  to  deal  with  the  hostile  Indians,  how  to 
treat  the  friendly  ones,  were  living  questions 
on  the  plains  in  the  seventies.  Dakota,  —  the 
Black  Hills,  and  Wyoming,  —  the  Big  Horn 
region,  were  the  great  battle-grounds.  In 
1875  an  expedition  against  the  Indians  was 
proposed.  The  following  letter  from  General 
Custer  was  dated  Fort  Abraham  Lincoln,  Da 
kota  Territory,  April  25,  1875:  — 

MY  DEAR  DOCTOR: — 

I  write  to  say  that  it  would  be  extremely 
agreeable  to  me  if  you  would  accompany  the 
expedition  as  chief  medical  officer.  In  fact, 
I  can  further  say,  if  permitted  to  choose  from 
the  medical  officers  of  this  Department  the 
one  I  most  prefer  for  that  position,  you  would 
be  my  unhesitating  choice  —  and  I  hope  the 
detail  may  fall  to  you. 

Very  truly  yours, 
(Signed)  G.  A.  CUSTER. 


BLACK  HILLS  AND  BIG  HORN    83 

The  long  marches  of  the  Yellowstone  Ex 
pedition  had  brought  General  Custer  into  most 
friendly  relations  with  Dr.  Kimball.  By  a  cu 
rious  tangle  of  circumstances,  the  expedition 
against  the  Indians  was  delayed  for  a  year. 
Dr.  Kimball  was  ordered  to  the  duty  of  its 
Chief  Surgeon,  in  March,  1876.  He  left  Fort 
Randall  and  proceeded  to  St.  Paul  —  head 
quarters  of  the  Department  —  to  await  the 
arrival  of  troops  and  hospital  supplies.  Just  as 
he  was  ready  to  join  General  Custer,  a  great 
blizzard  delayed  the  departure  of  the  troops. 
Meantime,  the  command,  under  General  Terry 
and  General  Custer,  had  marched  from  Fort 
Lincoln,  and  the  fatal  battle  of  the  Big  Horn 
occurred  in  June,  1876.  But  for  the  extra 
ordinary  blizzard  undoubtedly  the  Chief  Sur 
geon  would  have  shared  the  fate  of  his  subor 
dinates,  Assistant  Surgeons  Lord  and  DeWolf. 
With  General  Custer  and  his  command,  they 
were  killed  in  the  fight  on  the  Big  Horn.  Two 
weeks  later  Dr.  Kimball  accompanied  the  be 
lated  detachment  of  five  hundred  troops  from 


84  A  SOLDIER-DOCTOR 

Fort  Brady  (Sault  Sainte  Marie),  Michigan, 
to  the  mouth  of  the  Big  Horn  River,  on  the 
Yellowstone.  It  was  a  long  journey  by  the  Lake 
to  Duluth,  thence  to  the  Missouri  River,  past 
Fort  Buford,  and  up  the  Yellowstone  again. 
On  July  21, 1876,  he  writes :  "  Steamer  Carroll, 
thirty  miles  below  Fort  Stevenson,  Dakota 
Territory:  I  found  Mrs.  Custer  at  Fort  Lincoln 
greatly  prostrated." 

Dr.  Kimball's  comment  on  the  loss  of  his 
friend,  General  Custer,  was  a  copy,  found  in 
his  notebook,  of  Longfellow's  poem,  "The 
Revenge  of  Rain-in-the-Face."  He  was  said 
to  have  been  the  slayer  of  General  Custer,  the 
"White  Chief  with  yellow  hair." 

"In  that  desolate  land  and  lone, 
Where  the  Big  Horn  and  Yellowstone 

Roar  down  their  mountain  path, 
By  their  fires  the  Sioux  Chiefs 
Muttered  their  woes  and  griefs 
,  And  the  menace  of  their  wrath. 

"Whose  was  the  right  and  the  wrong? 
Sing  it,  O  funeral  song 

With  a  voice  that  is  full  of  tears, 


BLACK  HILLS  AND  BIG  HORN    85 

And  say  that  our  broken  faith 
Wrought  all  this  ruin  and  scathe, 
In  the  Year  of  a  Hundred  Years." 

We  all  know  of  Mrs.  Ouster's  wonderful 
marches  with  her  husband  on  the  great  plains 
—  she  has  told  her  own  story  vividly  and  ably. 
The  surgeon  and  several  officers  of  the  Sev 
enth  Cavalry,  often  rode  hour  after  hour  with 
the  ladies,  Mrs.  Custer  and  her  sister-in-law ; 
General  Custer  was  frequently  in  advance. 
The  invariable  orders  on  the  plains  were  that, 
in  case  of  attack,  the  women  should  be  shot 
by  the  nearest  officer,  rather  than  be  subjected 
to  murder  or  torture  at  the  hands  of  the  In 
dians.  Mrs.  Custer  herself  refers  to  this  order, 
and  gratefully  mentions  her  officer  guard  — 
among  them,  the  surgeon.  In  a  recent  letter 
she  writes :  "  I  remember  well  the  long  march 
I  made,  riding  so  much  of  the  five  hundred 
miles  beside  the  doctor  —  turned  over  to  him 
by  the  general.  The  doctor,  having  little  to 
do, — since  we  were  such  a  healthy  lot, — 
was  the  best  sort  of  a  '  squire  of  dames.' ' 


86  A  SOLDIER-DOCTOR 

On  July  29,  Dr.  Kimball  writes  again  from 
the  steamer  Carroll:  "Had  a  skirmish  with 
the  Sioux  at  the  mouth  of  Powder  River,  this, 
five  to  seven,  P.M.  There  were  about  two 
hundred  of  them,  apparently;  but  it  was  only  a 
long-range  skirmish,  in  which  we  had  one  man 
slightly  wounded,  and  the  Indians  lost  a  few 
horses  killed,  and  we  captured  a  few  guns  and 
pistols/'  A  petty  incident  of  travel  on  those 
wild  rivers !  In  contrast  with  the  rude  episode 
is  the  glimpse  of  Fort  Buford  revisited.  "The 
place  had  a  strange  fascination  for  me,"  he 
writes.  "...  Our  little  house,  with  its  flat 
dirt  roof,  pink  walls,  and  red  cross,  is  in  fair 
preservation,  and  the  barren  hills  and  bleak 
prairie  are  alike  unchanged." 

The  next  few  years  of  Dr.  Kimball's  career 
show  the  constant  changes  of  army  life.  A  slight 
lull  in  Indian  warfare  finds  him  at  Fort  Brady, 
Michigan  (1877),  —  "hibernating  in  the  im 
mense  snow-banks  of  this  Arctic  region,  writ 
ing,  reading,  and  sleighing."  He  adds:  "The 
Indian  war  is  by  no  means  over,  but  I  hope  to 


BLACK  HILLS  AND  BIG  HORN    87 

1be  let  alone  next  season,  to  enjoy  here  the  cool, 
quiet  summer,  the  fishing  and  sailing  and  the 
aromatic  breezes,  fragrant  with  balsam  and 
fir.  But  if  not  [ever  the  debonair  spirit],  there 
is  good  to  be  got  in  roaming  the  prairies,  and 
I  shall  not  grumble." 

At  this  time  the  surgeon  made  the  acquaint 
ance  of  Father  Ferard,  a  Jesuit  priest  who  had 
long  been  a  missionary  to  the  Indians  and 
settlers  in  the  neighborhood.  The  doctor's 
mind  and  sympathies  were  broad  enough  to  see 
the  great  good  accomplished  by  the  unselfish 
men  of  the  Roman  Catholic  belief  in  these 
remote  lands  and  among  simple  peoples.  I 
know  that  he  greatly  prized  the  friendship  of 
this  Jesuit  priest,  who  was  a  man  of  learning 
and  of  piety.  Father  Ferard  aroused  his 
friend's  interest  in  the  Jesuit  "Relations,"  and 
in  the  country  surrounding  Fort  Brady.  I 
find  a  sketch  of  the  place  written  during  his 
station  there.  Here  are  a  few  extracts:  — 

"At  the  foot  of  these  rapids  is  the  village  — 
no  mushroom  town  of  modern  Western  growth, 


88  A  SOLDIER-DOCTOR 

it  boasts  an  antiquity  of  more  than  two  cen 
turies,  and  is  but  little  the  junior  of  Plymouth 
Rock.  Here,  in  1667-68,  was  the  station  of 
Father  Marquette,  the  Jesuit  Missionary  and 
explorer;  and  here  the  young  Marquette  died, 
at  the  age  of  thirty-eight.  The  mission  is  now 
sustained  by  Father  Ferard,  a  worthy  succes 
sor  of  the  devoted  and  self-sacrificing  priests. 
[Father  Ferard  was  at  that 'time  compiling 
a  dictionary  of  the  Ojibway  language.]  He 
finds  a  great  affinity  between  the  roots  of  this 
language  and  those  of  the  Semitic  and  Aryan, 
or  Indo-Germanic,  tongues.  Apropos  of  this 
and  the  origin  of  the  Indian  is  a  very  remark 
able  anecdote  related  to  me  by  Father  Ferard. 
A  Jesuit  priest,  after  having  been  attached  to 
the  Huron  mission  in  Canada  for  several  years, 
was  recalled  to  Europe  and  sent  to  China. 
During  his  missionary  travel  in  the  North  of 
China,  he  was  surprised  to  meet  a  squaw  whom 
he  had  formerly  known  in  Canada.  In  answer 
to  his  inquiries,  she  stated  that  she  had  been 
taken  captive,  and  had  journeyed  from  camp 


BLACK  HILLS  AND  BIG  HORN    89 

to  camp  with  her  different  captors  until  she 
had  come  to  that  part  of  Chinese  Tartary 
where  she  met  him.  When  he  asked  her  how 
she  made  herself  understood,  she  replied  that 
the  language  of  the  country  and  her  own  lan 
guage  were  not  so  dissimilar  but  that  she  could 
understand  and  be  understood.  Upon  which 
the  priest  had  the  curiosity  to  compare  some 
of  the  most  common  words  of  both  languages, 
and  found  the  radicals  in  the  two  tongues 
strikingly  related. 

"The  military  occupation  of  the  Sault 
['Soo']  dates  back  to  1750.  After  the  fall  of 
Quebec  it  became  in  succession  French,  Eng 
lish,  Indian  (in  Pontiac's  War —  1763),  Eng 
lish  again,  and  finally  American,  when  the  gar 
rison  was  known  as  Fort  Brady.  The  village 
is  unique;  it  now  contains  [1878]  about  fifteen 
hundred  inhabitants,  a  motley  crew  of  English, 
French,  Indians,  and  half-breeds.  The  Creoles 
trace  back  their  lineage  for  more  than  two 
hundred  years,  to  the  early  days  of  the  Hud 
son's  Bay  Fur  Company;  and  not  a  few  bear 


go  A  SOLDIER-DOCTOR 

the  surnames  of  the  chevaliers  of  France. 
They  are  usually  honest,  not  lazy  or  idle,  but  a 
shiftless,  improvident  class  —  fishermen  and 
hunters." 

The  Sault  prospered  in  the  days  of  the  port 
age  and  the  first  canal,  when  Michigan  copper 
was  a  new  find  :•  but  the  big  government  lock 
then  in  construction  promised  to  obliterate  the 
falls  (eighteen  feet  in  height)  and  blot  out  the 
village  with  all  its  sometime  prosperity.  With 
or  without  the  lock,  however,  Sault  Ste.  Marie 
is  now  a  town  of  more  than  twelve  thousand 
inhabitants. 

After  the  station  at  Fort  Brady,  Dr.  Kim- 
ball  was  ordered  eastward,  instead  of  west 
ward.  At  Wilkes-Barre,  Pennsylvania,  the 
riots  in  the  mining  region  made  it  necessary 
to  call  in  the  Army.  The  duties  were  not  se 
rious  or  prolonged,  and  the  officers  found  the 
grateful  townspeople  gracious  and  hospitable. 

When  the  rioters  were  silenced,  orders  were 
received  to  proceed  to  Governor's  Island,  New 
York  Harbor.  This  detail  came  by  request  of 


. 

I! 


BLACK  HILLS  AND  BIG  HORN    91 

Dr.  Kimball's  friend,  General  Hancock,  the 
commanding  officer  of  the  Department  of  the 
East.  Colonel  John  M.  Cuyler,  one  of  the  most 
distinguished  and  able  men  of  his  corps,  was 
Medical  Director  of  the  Department.  He  be 
came  a  loyal  and  devoted  friend  of  his  young 
Assistant  Surgeon,  Captain  Kimball.  The  son 
born  April  24, 1878,  at  Governor's  Island,  was 
christened  James  Cuyler,  a  name  which  per 
petuates  the  friendship  of  two  noble  spirits. 
Nearly  two  years  were  spent  on  Governor's 
Island.  It  must  have  been  a  delightful  station, 
with  two  such  men  as  General  Hancock  and 
Dr.  Cuyler  in  the  little  Island  circle.  Gov 
ernor's  Island  is  a  unique  spot  in  our  national 
history,  and  Dr.  Kimball's  two  "tours"  of 
duty  there — twenty  years  apart  —  mark  it 
also  in  our  family  annals.  The  two  sons  spent 
each  a  babyhood  of  eighteen  months  on  the 
Island ;  thence  each  boy  went  westward — one 
to  Wyoming,  one  to  Nebraska. 


THE   THORNBURGH  MASSACRE 

The  Ute  War  —  Forced  cavalry  march  for  relief  of 
Thornburgh's  command  —  Pursuit  of  Indians  —  Fort 
Sidney,  Nebraska  —  Garrison  notes  —  Whist  clubs. 

AN  army  post  is  hard  to  find  on  the  map :  gen 
erally  speaking,  it  is  sure  to  be  as  remote  from 
civilization,  as  difficult  to  reach,  as  possible. 
Fort  Sanders,  Wyoming  Territory,  means  a 
spot  on  the  eastern  slope  of  the  Continental 
Divide,  six  hundred  miles  west  of  Omaha,  near 
the  towns  of  Cheyenne  and  Laramie.  In  the 
autumn  of  1879,  father,  mother,  and  son  found 
themselves  at  this  frontier  post,  a  far  cry  from 
the  Island  garrison  in  New  York  Harbor. 
No  sooner  unpacked  than  the  surgeon  was  hur 
ried  into  the  field  in  the  Ute  War.  For,  regard 
less  of  seasons,  the  Indians  "break  out''  sum 
mer  or  winter,  whenever  sufficiently  provoked, 
by  hunger  or  rage.  The  Ute  War  was,  there 
fore,  a  bitter  experience  on  the  slopes  of  the 


THE  THORNBURGH  MASSACRE    93 

Rocky  Mountains  in  midwinter.  The  following 
letter  to  his  mother  tells  in  part  the  story  of 
the  doctor's  share  in  the  campaign:  — 

December  15,  1879. 
DEAR  MOTHER:  — 

Just  home  from  the  Ute  War,  and  I  write  a 
line  to  let  you  know  that  neither  Ute  bullets 
nor  Rocky  Mountain  storms  have  harmed  me. 
The  campaign  has  been  a  hard  one  by  reason 
of  the  season  of  year  and  the  rugged  country. 
From  the  first  of  October  to  the  ninth  of  De 
cember  I  was  not  in  a  house,  nor,  indeed,  saw 
one.  We  were  encamped  on  White  River  —  I 
left  there  December  2  with  six  men,  and  after 
a  journey  of  eight  days  got  on  this  side  of 
the  Rockies.  While  crossing  the  "Divide," 
the  weather  was  bitter  cold;  the  wind  blew  fu 
riously,  and  drifting  snow  made  it  hard  to  fol 
low  the  path,  a  mere  mountain  trail.  We  lost 
it,  in  fact,  twice,  but  were  so  fortunate  as  to 
recover  it,  and  the  first  log  ranch-house  we 
reached  looked  better  to  me  than  ever  did  the 
Fifth  Avenue  Hotel. 


94  A  SOLDIER-DOCTOR 

This  incident  of  the  return  from  White 
River  gives  no  idea  of  what  went  before  — 
the  forced  march  of  the  cavalry,  under  General 
Merritt,  for  the  relief  of  Major  Thornburgh's 
command.  The  story  of  the  march  was  writ 
ten  by  Dr.  Kimball  nearly  twenty  years  later 
for  a  dinner  given  by  officers  of  the  Second 
Cavalry  at  Fort  Wingate,  New  Mexico.  I 
quote  from  this  after-dinner  address:  — 

"Mr.  President  and  Gentlemen,  —  I  am 
thoroughly  loyal  to  my  own  corps,  but  if  I  did 
not  belong  to  the  Medical  Department,  I 
should  choose  the  Cavalry  arm  of  the  Service ; 
and  if  I  belonged  to  the  Cavalry,  I  should  by 
all  means  choose  the  Second  Cavalry.  As  to 
night  we  are  one  in  spirit,  it  is  with  a  trooper's 
pride  that  I  recall  a  march  famous  in  the  an 
nals  of  Cavalry.  General  Merritt  has  told 
me  that  he  had  searched  history  and  records  in 
vain  for  a  parallel  of  this  march  of  the  Second 
Cavalry,  the  strength  of  the  column  and  other 
circumstances  being  taken  into  consideration." 

The  Thornburgh  disaster  was  the  result  of 


THE  THORNBURGH  MASSACRE    95 

an  attempt  to  force  the  Indians  to  become 
farmers  and  cultivate  the  soil. 

"When  Agent  Meeker,  at  White  River,  tried 
to  plough  some  land  which  the  Utes  wished  to 
keep  for  grazing  purposes,  the  quarrel  became 
an  open  revolt.  Meeker  and  his  family  were 
massacred,  but  not  before  he  had  asked  for 
military  assistance.  To  this  end  Major  Thorn- 
burgh  and  his  command  were  on  their  way 
from  Rawlins,  one  hundred  and  eighty-five 
miles  distant,  when,  at  Deer  Creek,  Colorado, 
they  were  met  by  the  Ute  chiefs  who  protested 
against  further  advance.  The  following  morn 
ing  the  Indians  made  a  furious  attack  upon 
the  small  detachment  (one  hundred  and  fifty- 
five  men  and  six  officers),  which  was  then 
separated  by  nearly  a  mile  from  the  remainder 
of  the  command.  This  small  body  at  length 
succeeded,  after  hard  fighting,  in  joining  the 
rest  of  the  troops,  and  the  wagon  train  was 
'parked'  in  a  hastily  selected  camp  on  the 
bank  of  Milk  Creek.  As  usual,  the  corral  was 
in  the  form  of  an  ellipse  open  at  one  end. 


96  A  SOLDIER-DOCTOR 

This  open  end  was  filled  with  wounded  ani 
mals,  shot  down  and  placed  there  as  a  cover 
for  the  troops.  Bundles  of  bedding,  sacks  of 
flour  and  grain  were  also  used  for  the  same 
purpose. . .  .  Meantime  the  Indians  kept  up  a 
steady  fusillade,  also  setting  fire  to  the  grass  to 
the  windward  of  the  corral.  The  beleaguered 
men  had  to  fight  prairie  fires,  shoot  Indians, 
unload  stores,  and  build  breastworks  all  at 
once.  After  a  struggle  of  five  hours  the  troops, 
carrying  their  wounded  with  them,  withdrew 
into  the  shelter  of  the  corral.  The  Indians,  dis 
appointed  in  their  expectation  of  at  once  an 
nihilating  the  command,  gathered  on  a  hill 
overlooking  the  corral,  concentrated  their  fire 
on  the  mules  and  horses,  and  killed  three 
fourths  of  them  before  sundown.  At  last  all 
was  quiet  on  Milk  Creek,  and  the  besieged 
had  opportunity  to  look  about  them  and  con 
sider  the  situation.  One  third  of  the  force 
which  had  marched  in  the  morning  was  killed  or 
wounded.  Ten  men,  including  Major  Thorn- 
burgh,  were  dead,  and  forty-one  were  wounded, 


THE  THORNBURGH  MASSACRE    97 

one  of  whom  was  the  medical  officer.  The  com 
mand  had  devolved  upon  Captain  Payne, 
Fifth  Cavalry,  himself  twice  wounded.  To 
move  was  impossible,  to  obtain  assistance 
from  the  outside  world  was  their  only  hope. 
Dispatches  were  written  out,  and  at  midnight 
the  messenger  started.  Whether  he  should  get 
safe  through  the  Indian  lines  and  reach  Raw- 
lins  —  one  hundred  and  sixty-five  miles  away 

—  was  a  burning  question  in  the  little  garri 
son  of  the  corral.  During  the  night  the  troops 
dug  pits  for  better  protection,  and  brought 
from  the  creek  a  supply  of  water.    The  next 
day  and  the  following  days,  the  Indians  again 
took  position  on  the  hill  commanding  the  cor 
ral,  killed  the  remainder  of  the  animals,  and 
fired  occasional  volleys  into  the  enclosure. 
At  sundown  the  Indians  withdrew,  to  camp  on 
lower  ground,  as  the  nights  were  cold.  From 
daybreak  to  dark  the  pathway  from  the  creek 

—  two  hundred  yards  away  —  was  covered  by 
the  Indian  rifles,  but  was  unmolested  during 
the  night,  so  that  the  troops  did  not  suffer  for 


98  A  SOLDIER-DOCTOR 

want  of  water.  Thus  passed  six  long  days  and 
nights  in  the  corral. 

"The  messenger  was  fortunate.  He  passed 
out  unharmed,  and  by  great  good  luck  found 
a  stray  horse.  Procuring  remounts  at  the 
ranches  on  the  way,  he  arrived  at  Rawlins 
soon  after  midnight  of  September  3Oth,  hav 
ing  covered  the  distance  in  but  little  more  than 
twenty-four  hours.  On  the  morning  of  October 
ist,  orders  for  the  march  were  received  by 
General  Merritt  at  Fort  D.  A.  Russell.  Fort 
Russell  is  two  hundred  miles  by  rail  from  Raw 
lins.  In  the  afternoon  a  train  pulled  out  with 
four  companies  of  the  Fifth  Cavalry,  and 
reached  Rawlins  at  five-thirty  next  morning. 
Four  companies  of  the  Fourth  Infantry  from 
Fort  Sanders  had  arrived  at  Rawlins  during 
the  night.  The]work  of  unloading  the  train  and 
organizing  the  command  occupied  until  eleven 
A.M.,  when  the  march  began.  Captain  Payne's 
messenger  acted  as  our  guide.  The  train  con 
sisted  of  escort  wagons  for  the  Infantry,  an 
ambulance,  and  a  few  wagons  lightly  loaded 


THE  THORNBURGH  MASSACRE    99 

with  grain  and  supplies.  About  three  P.M., 
we  stopped  and  made  coffee,  and  then  kept  on 
until  half-past  ten,  when  we  halted  for  the 
night,  forty-two  miles  from  Rawlins.  The 
day,  like  all  following  days,  was  warm,  and 
the  dust  stifling.  The  nights  were  cold  —  ice 
forming  on  standing  water.  The  moon  was 
about  half  full,  so  that  the  first  hours  of  the 
night  were  light.  The  next  morning  we  started 
at  seven  o'clock,  and  at  nine-thirty  P.M.,  biv 
ouacked  on  Fortification  Creek,  fifty-eight 
miles  farther  on  the  way.  The  usual  alter 
nation  of  walking,  trotting,  and  marching  on 
foot  over  the  hills,  was  the  order  of  the  day. 
Soon  after  midday  a  halt  of  an  hour  was  made, 
and  the  horses  were  unsaddled.  As  the  road 
was  good,  except  in  occasional  sandy  stretches, 
the  wagons  kept  well  up  with  the  command 
this  day. 

"The  following  morning,  Saturday,  Octo 
ber  4th,  we  were  in  the  saddle  at  six  o'clock, 
with  sixty-five  miles  between  us  and  Captain 
Payne's  Camp,  which,  it  was  decided,  must  be 


loo  A  SOLDIER-DOCTOR 

reached  before  the  next  sunrise.  At  noon  we 
arrived  at  Bear  River,  and  rested  for  three 
hours.  Here  we  met  some  settlers  who  had 
been  raided  by  a  war  party  of  Indians,  and 
were  fleeing  for  their  lives.  In  their  wagons 
they  brought  a  number  of  wounded  men  who 
were  in  great  need  of  surgical  aid.  This  was 
given  them  at  the  expense  of  the  nap  which  I 
had  promised  myself  while  reeling  in  the  saddle 
from  sleep.  My  chief  recollection  of  this  halt, 
aside  from  the  wounded  settlers,  is  of  a  field 
covered  with  men  and  horses  stretched  upon 
the  ground  as  profoundly  still  as  though  the 
sleep  of  Sennacherib's  host  had  fallen  upon 
them. 

"At  three  P.M.,  we  moved  on.  About  sun 
set  we  entered  the  canons,  into  which  the  moon 
did  not  shine  until  nearly  midnight.  The  road 
was  dark  and  rough,  and  we  soon  passed  the 
wagons,  which  had  kept  on  during  the  halt, 
and  saw  no  more  of  them  until  the  next  day. 
We  scarcely  halted  during  the  night;  not 
more  than  once  or  twice  for  a  few  minutes  to 


THE  THORNBURGH  MASSACRE     101 

close  up.  About  five  o'clock  in  the  morning 
the  guide  raised  his  hand  and,  pointing  to  a 
hill  dimly  outlined  in  the  darkness,  —  perhaps 
a  quarter  of  a  mile  away,  —  said,  'There  is 
the  hill;  and  to  the  left  of  it  was  the  corral/ 
The  column  halted,  and  officer's  call  was 
sounded,  the  object  being  to  inform  the  be 
sieged  that  the  coming  tramp  of  horses  was 
not  that  of  hostile  Utes,  but  of  friends  and 
comrades,  and  also  to  secure,  if  possible,  a 
reply  which  should  indicate  the  site  of  the 
camp  and  give  assurance  that  the  garrison  still 
held  out.  Soon  an  answering  call  was  heard; 
the  command  then  moved  on  at  a  gallop,  and 
in  a  few  moments  reached  the  beleaguered 
corral.  When  the  character  and  number  of  the 
early  visitors  was  known,  a  weak  but  thankful 
cry  went  up ;  men  tumbled  out  of  the  pits  and 
ran  around  in  the  chill  morning,  throwing  their 
arms  wildly  and  falling  on  one  another's  necks, 
showing  by  every  gesture  the  sudden  revulsion 
of  feeling.  One  soldier,  who  had  become  pos 
sessed  of  a  can  of  preserved  peaches,  was  re- 


102  A  SOLDIER-DOCTOR 

serving  them  for  the  last  strait,  as  a  priceless 
treasure.  As  we  rode  in,  he  brought  up  this 
can  and  wanted  to  give  it  to  General  Merritt. 
The  general  told  him  he  could  eat  it  himself 
now.  The  march  had  been  made  in  just  two 
and  three  quarters  days,  at  an  average  speed 
of  sixty  miles  per  twenty-four  hours. 

"But  little  time  was  spent  at  the  corral,  as 
the  enemy  had  yet  to  be  apprised  of  our  arrival. 
We  at  once  appropriated  the  position  on  the 
hill  held  by  the  Indians  during  the  daytime. 
Just  as  the  sky  was  reddening  in  the  east,  a 
long  line  of  mounted  Indians  rose  up  out  of  the 
valley  about  half  a  mile  distant.  At  the  same 
instant  they  discovered  that  their  vantage- 
ground  was  taken,  and  came  on  in  a  wild 
charge.  The  troopers  moved  out  at  equal 
speed  to  meet  them.  The  Indians,  however, 
did  not  wait  for  the  collision,  but,  firing  a  few 
shots  at  long  range,  scattered  into  the  hills, 
whither  no  attempt  was  then  made  to  follow 
them.  The  casualties  of  the  morning  were  one 
man  and  one  horse  slightly  wounded. 


THE  THORNBURGH  MASSACRE    103 

"About  nine  o'clock  the  Infantry  came  up. 
The  Indians  then  raised  a  white  flag  on  a 
distant  hill,  and  under  it  several  of  the  chiefs 
and  a  white  man  advanced  to  hold  a  parley. 
The  burden  of  their  message  was,  that  if  the 
white  soldiers  would  go  back,  they  would. 
Having  been  assured  that  the  white  soldiers 
had  no  intention  of  going  back,  the  Indians 
concluded  to  go  anyway,  and  we  saw  no  more 
of  them  on  Milk  Creek. 

"The  bodies  of  the  dead  were  brought  in 
and  buried.  That  of  Major  Thornburgh  was 
found  about  five  hundred  yards  from  the 
corral.  Lying  upon  the  bullet  wound  in  his 
breast  was  the  photograph  of  Colorow,  a  Ute 
chief  who  had  thus  signed  his  bloody  work. 
All  the  men  were  accounted  for  except  one, 
and  it  was  not  until  the  troops  moved  on  to 
White  River,  a  few  days  later,  that  his  body 
was  found,  two  or  three  miles  beyond  Payne's 
camp.  His  horse  had  bolted  with  him,  and 
carried  him  into  the  enemy's  lines,  where  both 
horse  and  rider  were  killed. 


104  A  SOLDIER-DOCTOR 

"It  was  necessary  to  move  to  a  new  camp 
ing-ground,  as  the  old  one  was  far  from  water, 
and  the  decaying  bodies  of  over  three  hun 
dred  animals  tainted  the  air.  Another  site  was 
chosen,  and  the  wounded  were  cared  for.  I 
had  a  busy  time,  having  no  assistant,  except 
the  wounded  surgeon,  who  was  able,  however, 
to  administer  chloroform.  In  the  evening, 
cheerful  camp-fires  dotted  the  valley,  the 
soldiers  talked,  laughed,  and  smoked,  as  usual ; 
even  the  stock  jokes  between  horse  and  foot 
were  overheard  —  Cavalryman:  "Why  do 
they  call  you  dough-boys?'  Infantryman: 
'Because  we  are  so  much  needed  when  you 
get  into  trouble/  'Got  a  brush  and  comb?' 
'No;  when  we  get  over  and  have  a  brush  with 
the  Indians,  they  will  fix  your  hair  for  you/ 
The  horror  of  the  past  week  remained  a  mem 
ory  only.  Give  a  rouse  for  the  Cavalry!" 

So  ended  the  after-dinner  reminiscence. 

During  the  next  few  years — 1879-85  — 
Dr.  Kimball  was  still  on  the  mountain-tops,  or 


THE  THORNBURGH  MASSACRE    105 

on  the  plains  at  their  feet.  Fort  Sidney,  one 
hundred  and  sixty  miles  east  of  Fort  San 
ders,  in  Nebraska,  became  his  station  in  1881 ; 
there  he  descended  from  an  altitude  of  seven 
thousand  feet  to  four  thousand.  The  Indians 
were  peaceable  for  the  moment,  and  the  chief 
medical  officer  found  himself,  in  addition  to 
garrison  work,  a  busy  doctor  in  civil  life;  for 
he  had  all  the  surgery  up  and  down  the  Union 
Pacific  Railroad  for  two  hundred  miles.  As 
this  service  then  included  frequent  railroad 
accidents  and  private  stabbings,  the  fees  were 
often  considerable. 

On  one  occasion,  temporary  duty  took  him 
to  Denver  and  vicinity.  Speaking  of  Idaho 
Springs  —  then  little  known  as  a  health  re 
sort —  he  writes:  "I  explored  this  place  well, 
and  found  much  of  interest,  human,  animal, 
and  mineral  —  not  much  vegetable.  One  speci 
men  interested  me  much.  On  the  top  of  Mount 
Seton,  ten  thousand  feet  in  the  air,  we  found 
a  solitary  man  living  in  a  rude  cabin  which 
constantly  creaked  and  swayed  to  and  fro  in 


106  A  SOLDIER-DOCTOR 

the  ceaseless  winds.  He  had  lived  there  six 
teen  years,  digging  away  in  the  mountains  for 
gold  and  silver,  getting  out  ore  sufficient  to 
purchase  his  simple  fare,  and  expecting  every 
day  to  strike  a  vein  that  should  make  him  a 
millionaire.  Two  cats  kept  him  company,  and 
when  he  returned  from  his  occasional  visits  to 
town  after  supplies,  the  cats  would  come  down 
the  mountains  to  meet  him." 

The  small  routine  of  garrison  life  always 
grew  tiresome  to  Dr.  Kimball  sooner  or  later. 
He  preferred  the  march  and  the  camp  —  the 
vivid  life  of  the  campaign.  Yet  he  writes  to 
his  father  at  this  time:  "With  my  books,  a  few 
congenial  persons,  a  gun,  and  something  to 
shoot,  I  can  be  contented  anywhere."  His 
books  and  a  group  of  friends  he  had  in  every 
garrison.  I  well  remember  the  officers'  whist 
club  in  the  old  days.  The  four  men  smoked  and 
played  and  supped  together  with  military  pre 
cision  once  a  week.  It  was  a  silent,  thought 
ful  game,  and  my  husband's  keen  powers  of 
observation  and  analysis  had  many  opportuni- 


THE  THORNBURGH  MASSACRE    107 

ties  for  study  of  character.  He  often  jotted 
down  comments,  searching  and  amusing,  after 
a  game  of  whist;  thus,  without  date  —  "Col 
onel —  a  gentleman,  but  can't  play  whist; 
Captain  —  a  pig-headed  but  good-natured 
Dutchman;  Captain — (No.  2) —  a  plump 
toad;  Captain — (No.  3)  —  of  excellent  heart, 
but  light  brain."  Here  are  lieutenants:  "Lieu 
tenant  —  (No.  i)  —  a  gentleman  of  unusual 
information,  a  very  great  talker,  and  apt  to 
be  prolix  and  prosy."  (He  became  a  special 
friend.)  "Lieutenant  —  (No.  2)  —  a  recent 
arrival,  apparently  an  inoffensive  gentleman, 
running  rather  more  to  good  clothes  than  to 
brains.  Lieutenant  —  (No.  3)  —  and  wife  — 
of  large,  blundering  make,  —  physically, — 
an  infant  in  common  sense,  having  a  wife  of 
childish  proportions  mentally  and  physically, 
and  no  health  at  all — two  babes  in  the  wood." 
Dr.  Kimball  never  tolerated  gossip,  but  he  did 
thus  unburden  himself  to  the  pages  of  his  jour 
nal.  "General  —  a  fair  player,  a  man  of  good 
average  ability  and  a  good  deal  of  force  and 


io8  A  SOLDIER-DOCTOR 

character.  Lieutenant  —  a  good  player,  good 
ability,  fond  of  good  living,  and  already  fat 
and  flabby  —  will  die  early." 

Most  of  Dr.  Kimball's  life  was  spent  far 
away  from  his  old  home,  yet  anniversaries 
and  incidents  were  never  overlooked  by  this 
loyal  son  and  brother.  To  his  sister  he  writes 
upon  her  birthday  festival:  "To  do  the  duty 
that  lies  nearest  is,  I  believe,  the  true  way  of 
life  well  spent ;  and  most  certainly,  in  all  my 
wanderings,  have  I  nowhere,  nor  ever,  seen 
this  duty  performed  more  faithfully,  untir 
ingly,  and  conscientiously  than  by  you  and 
all  the  circle  of  the  dear  old  home."  To  his 
mother,  after  an  illness  of  hers:  "One  thought 
comforts  me,  and  that  is,  that  of  all  the  women 
I  have  ever  known  or  seen,  you  are  the  best, 
and  that  for  you,  neither  sickness,  nor  death 
itself,  can  have  any  terrors.  .  .  .  Now,  in  the 
mature  years  of  my  manhood  I  often  look  back 
at  the  temptations  through  which  I  have  come, 
and  appreciate,  as  I  did  not  at  the  time,  that 
it  is  the  influence  of  my  mother's  early  teach- 


THE  THORNBURGH  MASSACRE    109 

ings  which  guided  me.  How  vividly  your  fig 
ure  comes  before  me  in  those  childhood  days ! 
Father  was  much  away  —  but  we  will  save 
this  to  talk  over  when  I  come  to  see  you." 

In  August,  1883,  a  letter  to  his  mother  an 
nounces  an  order  to  report  for  duty  in  New 
York  as  member  of  an  Army  Medical  Ex 
amining  Board.  So  ends  this  chapter  of  Indian 
wars  and  garrison  life  on  the  frontier. 


VI 

TEXAS  —  EUROPE  —  TEXAS 

From  West  Point  to  Texas  —  Europe:  visits  to  Rome, 
Florence,  Athens,  Paris,  London  —  Return  to  Texas  — 
Sick-leave. 

AT  the  conclusion  of  service  on  the  Examining 
Board  in  New  York,  Dr.  Kimball  was  ordered 
to  West  Point  (1884).  General  Merritt  was 
then  Superintendent  of  the  Military  Academy. 
With  him  and  other  congenial  friends,  the 
whist  club  flourished,  and  the  peaceful  gar 
rison  life  moved  on  agreeably  for  three  years. 
At  the  end  of  this  "tour"  of  duty,  the  sur 
geon  was  again  found  in  his  familiar  longitude 
-  at  Fort  Elliott,  Texas.  The  more  formal 
life  of  the  Eastern  garrison  was,  not  reluc 
tantly,  exchanged  for  the  freer  service  on  the 
Western  plains.  The  name  of  Texas  sounds 
sad  and  glad  in  our  family  annals.  My  older 
son  can  doubtless  recall  days  of  illness  and 
anxiety  at  Fort  Elliott,  and  the  death  of  his 


• 


01    fe       - 

2  ! 


I 


TEXAS  1 1 1 

beloved  mother  in  March,  1890.  Two  years 
later  at  Fort  Clark,  Dr.  Kimball  suffered,  in 
common  with  many  enlisted  men,  from  the 
prevailing  epidemic  of  "Texas  Fever,"  and 
narrowly  escaped  with  his  life.  As  it  was  in 
Texas,  however,  that  I  first  "joined"  an  army 
station,  for  me  the  name  is  linked  with  the  pre 
cious  associations  of  a  newly  made  home,  in 
its  deepest  and  most  sacred  meaning. 

After  a  short  service  in  the  (then)  Indian 
Territory  at  Fort  Supply,  Dr.  Kimball  ob 
tained  six  months'  leave  of  absence,  with  per 
mission  to  go  "overseas."  Our  marriage  took 
place  in  1892,  and  we  sailed  at  once  for  Italy. 
To  us  both  it  was  a  promised  land.  To  my 
husband,  after  the  long  course  of  Indian  wars 
on  the  desert,  Rome  was,  indeed,  a  new  life. 
"Rome  thrills  my  very  soul,"  he  wrote  in  his 
journal.  Like  all  travelers,  we  treasured  cer 
tain  "remembered  moments."  I  will  recall 
only  a  few  of  them. 

We  landed  at  Genoa,  and  after  lingering 
briefly  on  the  Riviera — at  Nice  and  San  Remo 


112  A  SOLDIER-DOCTOR 

—  we  arrived  one  midnight  at  Rome.  Before 
breakfast  the  newcomer  was  abroad  and  had 
tasted  the  first  delights  of  the  city  —  city  of 
which  Emerson  wrote:  "There  is  great  testi 
mony  of  discriminating  persons  to  the  effect 
that  Rome  is  endowed  with  the  enchanting 
property  of  inspiring  a  longing  in  men  there 
to  live  and  there  to  die."  These  words,  so  full 
of  restrained  enthusiasm,  were  no  stronger 
than  were  Dr.  Kimball's  on  his  return  from 
his  walk. 

The  rainy  March  days  we  spent  in  the  Vati 
can  among  Greek  marbles  and  masterpieces  of 
painting;  as  the  spring  sunshine  dawned,  we 
walked  and  drove,  from  the  Forum  and  the 
Capitoline  to  St.  Peter's  and  the  Catacombs, 
through  the  labyrinth  of  ancient  and  mediaeval 
and  modern  Rome.  One  day  we  were  absorbed 
in  Romulus  and  Remus,  with  memories  of  the 
Latin  reader,  the  next,  lost  among  emperors, 
popes,  and  saints;  and  again,  moved  by  the 
Lenten  and  Easter  services  of  the  Roman 
Church  of  to-day.  Of  St.  Peter's  my  husband 


EUROPE  113 

wrote  in  his  brief  journal:  "Sunday,  March 
6th:  Visit  St.  Peter's  —  another  great  expe 
rience.  Imposing,  but  earthly."  Like  many 
other  symbols,  at  St.  Peter's,  on  Palm  Sunday, 
the  palms,  braided  and  twisted  into  fantastic 
shapes,  seemed  to  have  lost  their  old  and 
simpler  meanings;  but  in  the  basilica  of  Santa 
Maria  Maggiore,  the  Tenebrce  and  Miserere, 
unchanged  by  usage,  were  to  us  the  most 
touchingly  beautiful  of  all  the  services  of  Holy 
Week.  In  the  late  afternoon  of  Thursday, 
taper  after  taper  was  extinguished  on  the  al 
tar,  to  typify  the  passion  and  death  of  our 
Lord.  At  the  close  of  the  last  psalm,  both 
apse  and  nave  were  in  darkness  except  for  the 
glow  of  ancient  mosaics  in  the  April  twilight. 
The  moving  crowd  of  many  nationalities, 
hushed  by  the  thrilling  music,  left  the  church 
in  silence.  This  hour  of  worship,  in  a  church 
so  foreign  to  all  my  husband's  training,  seemed 
to  arouse  and  awaken  in  him  a  wealth  of  deep 
and  tender  feeling,  which  had,  perhaps,  never 
before  found  words. 


114  A  SOLDIER-DOCTOR 

From  Rome  we  went  the  usual  journey  to 
Naples  ("Beautiful,  dirty  Naples/'  he  wrote), 
and  thence,  by  way  of  Salerno,  to  Brindisi. 
From  that  port  we  sailed  by  an  Italian  steamer 
for  Greece.  On  a  lovely  May  morning  we 
walked  up  the  Acropolis,  and  drank  deep  of 
Hellas,  in  temple,  sea,  plain,  and  mountains. 
Dr.  Kimball  said,  as  we  walked  over  historic 
stones  and  looked  between  Doric  columns  into 
the  sacred  precincts  of  Pallas  Athene,  "It  is 
like  finding  old  friends."  The  hard-conned 
lessons  of  "Old  Greek"  at  Hamilton  College 
came  back  to  him  then  in  glorified  form;  and 
again,  when  he  found  that  he  could  read  the 
daily  newspapers  in  modern  Greek,  though  the 
spoken  tongue  was  unintelligible.  Every  step 
in  Athens  was  a  wonder  and  a  delight ;  and  our 
ten  days  between  steamers  were  all  too  short. 

The  Sumatra  carried  us  through  a  summer 
sea  from  Piraeus,  around  Peloponnesus,  among 
Ionian  isles,  to  Brindisi  again;  thence  our 
coastwise  steamer  sailed  up  the  Adriatic,  and 
stopped  for  commercial  errands  at  Bari,  An- 


EUROPE  115 

cona,  and,  last,  at  Venice.  A  few  hours  at 
each  place  gave  us  many  interesting  glimpses 
of  Italian  life,  a  little  off  the  beaten  track. 
"No  Italian  city  is  without  interest,"  said 
one  of  our  fellow  travelers.  Finally  we  were 
promised  Venice  in  the  morning.  We  had 
given  orders  to  be  called  early,  that  we  might 
see  the  approach  to  the  city  from  the  lagoons. 
About  five  o'clock  the  cabin-boy  knocked  at 
our  door.  "II  signore  Commandante  ci  an- 
nuncia  i  lagune"  (The  Sir  Captain  announces 
the  lagoons),  said  he.  We  made  haste  on  deck, 
and  saw  the  lovely  Queen  of  the  Adriatic 
from  her  own  domain  —  pale  opal  tints  on  the 
placid  waters  of  the  misty  lagoons  slowly  gave 
place  to  dawning  light  on  the  towers  and  pal 
aces  of  Venice.  Then  followed  days  when  we 
"swam  in  a  gondola,"  looked  at  Tintorettos 
and  Carpaccios,  dreamed  in  St.  Mark's,  ate 
ices  at  Florian's  —  days  that  every  one  knows 
who  has  visited  that  city  of  enchantment. 

Next,  Florence:  "A  city  which  has  never 
been  sacked  and  plundered,"  wrote  my  hus- 


ii6  A  SOLDIER-DOCTOR 

band  to  his  sister,  "and  is,  perhaps,  the  best- 
preserved  mediaeval  city  of  Europe.  The  nar 
row  streets  and  massive  stone  buildings  give 
a  stern  and  somber  air  to  the  place — like  its 
heroes,  Dante,  Savonarola,  Michael  Angelo, 
Galileo.  The  Cathedral  and  other  bells  are 
this  moment  ringing  vespers,  and  are  the  most 
beautiful  bells  we  have  heard  in  Italy." 

After  Florence,  Paris,  with  breaks  in  the 
journey  at  Milan,  Turin,  and  Geneva.  At 
Milan  he  writes:  "Spend  all  morning  in  and 
on  the  wonderful  Cathedral,  getting  my  first 
view  of  the  Alps."  At  Geneva  we  saw  Mont 
Blanc  from  our  hotel  window,  and  at  Chamo- 
nix,  we  walked  at  the  feet  of  the  great  White 
Mountain. 

Paris  was  Paris,  of  course.  Then  London, 
with  a  halt  en  route  at  Canterbury.  "Walk  to 
Cathedral  and  around  town  —  a  thrilling 
sensation  I  find  it — my  first  touch  of  England. 
Strange  to  hear  again  the  English  tongue 
spoken  by  all  the  world."  (From  the  journal.) 
To  his  mother  he  writes  from  London:  "I  find 


EUROPE  117 

England  fully  as  interesting,  perhaps  more  so, 
than  any  other  country  we  have  visited."  The 
doctor's  love  of  history  made  the  actual  "Lon 
don  Stones  "  a  book  of  absorbing  interest.  Said 
a  friend,  a  well-known  literary  woman,  upon 
reading  one  of  his  letters,  "Why,  he  is  a  poet !" 
The  bells  and  the  music  of  the  cathedrals 
touched  him  deeply:  once  at  evensong  in 
Westminster,  where  we  chanced  to  hear  our 
own  Bishop  Brooks  preach.  Of  this  service 
he  wrote  to  his  mother:  "It  was  just  in  the 
deepening  twilight  that  the  eventide  hymn 
was  sung  ('Abide  with  Me'),  and  as  the  last 
strains  of  the  magnificent  choir  and  organ 
rolled  through  the  great  dim  arches  of  the  glo 
rious  old  abbey,  one  almost  caught  a  glimpse 
of  the  better  world."  Another  time  he  wan 
dered  into  St.  Paul's:  "Magnificent  music," 
he  writes  in  his  notebook.  "  First,  for  fifteen 
minutes  rang  with  a  crash  and  a  go,  St.  Paul's 
chimes;  then  the  heavy  bell  tolled  a  dozen 
grand,  solemn  strokes,  of  which  the  vibrations, 
as  they  were  slowly  dying  away  through  the 


ii8  A  SOLDIER-DOCTOR 

arches,  were  gathered  by  the  grand  organ  on 
the  same  key,  and  slowly  swelled  into  a  volume 
of  harmony,  filling  the  vast  Cathedral.  A  good, 
stupid,  British  sermon  followed  the  beauti 
ful  music.  The  congregation  numbered  thou 
sands."  The  following  Sunday,  at  Westminster, 
his  comments  were  not  less  drastic  upon  the 
sermon  of  a  distinguished  Oxonian:  "An  in 
firm  old  man,  who  preached  three  quarters  of 
an  hour  in  an  unintelligible  voice  on  John 
Wesley." 

In  London  and  in  Rome,  Dr.  Kimball  paid 
several  visits  to  military  hospitals,  and  pre 
sented  his  letters  of  introduction  to  the  sur 
geons  in  charge.  Nor  did  he  neglect  a  cricket 
match  at  Lord's  or  the  charms  of  Rotten 
Row.  Of  a  Sunday  meeting  in  Hyde  Park, 
he  writes:  "Meeting  of  the  great  unwashed, 
being  addressed  by  two  rampant  old-coat  ora 
tors."  After  a  month  in  London,  we  made 
brief  stops  in  Oxford,  Stratford,  and  Chester, 
and  sailed  for  New  York  from  Liverpool.  One 
of  the  last  jottings  in  his  notebook  is  this :  "We 


TEXAS  119 

grieve  over  the  near  end  of  our  journey  — 
a  long  holiday  filled  with  glorious  memories. 
Earth  has  nothing  more  perfect  than  have 
been  these  heavenly  weeks."  In  less  than  a 
month  we  had  reached  our  "proper  station" 
at  Fort  Clark,  Texas. 

To  my  husband,  arrival  at  Fort  Clark  meant 
the  usual  routine  of  unpacking  and  resuming 
official  duties  in  a  land  already  familiar  to  him. 
To  me,  Texas  and  an  army  garrison  were 
strangers;  hence,  my  first  impressions  were 
novel.  When  we  descended  from  the  train  a 
few  miles  beyond  San  Antonio,  we  found 
awaiting  us  an  army  ambulance,  the  usual 
quartermaster's  stage  on  the  plains.  We  fol 
lowed  a  sixteenth-century  Spanish  road  across 
twenty-five  miles  of  desert  to  Fort  Clark.  The 
limestone  ledges,  slowly  cracking  off  into  jagged 
fragments  strewn  carelessly  about,  made  the 
almost  grassless  prairie  look  like  a  roughly 
macadamized  road.  The  monotony  was  em 
phasized  by  miles  of  mesquite  trees  —  the 
"  chaparral."  The  mesquite  tree,  growing  only 


120          A  SOLDIER-DOCTOR 

ten  or  twelve  feet  high  in  orchard-like  rows, 
forms  a  pigmy  forest.  Its  pale  olive  green  and 
prim  regularity  of  growth  were  at  first  depress 
ing  to  the  eye,  but  I  soon  learned  that  the 
mesquite  is  a  blessing  to  Texas ;  its  seed-pods 
and  gums  have  an  economic  value,  and  its 
tough  wood  makes  excellent  fuel.  At  Las 
Moras  ("The  Mulberries")  our  mules  left  the 
chaparral  and  descended  into  an  oasis  formed 
by  one  of  those  strange  underground  rivers 
which  rise  on  the  lofty  Staked  Plains  (Llanos 
Estacados)  of  Texas.  Las  Moras  had  flowed 
for  hundreds  of  miles  underground,  and  here 
emerged,  a  noble  volume  of  water  fifteen  feet 
deep  and  thirty  feet  broad.  We  left  our  car 
avan  and  enjoyed  the  shade  of  mulberries, 
pecans,  and  towering  live-oaks;  also  the  sight 
of  water-lilies  and  plain  green  grass,  with  the 
welcome  sound  of  streams. 

Again  the  white  dusty  road  —  here  vast 
beds  of  cactus,  there  a  towering  yucca  (Span 
ish  bayonet).  At  the  top  of  a  rocky  ledge, 
gates  opened  before  us  and  we  entered  the 


TEXAS  121 

fort.  The  bugle  was  just  sounding  Retreat, 
and  the  tempered  sunset  light  lent  a  rosy 
charm  to  the  rather  severe  and  rectangular 
stone  quarters.  The  vine-covered  verandas, 
tiny  lawns,  and  trim  rows  of  China  trees 
(Pride  of  India)  bespoke  careful  home-making: 
for  these  trees  were  planted  in  trenches  blasted 
out  of  the  solid  rock  and  filled  with  soil ;  the 
grass  was  a  layer  of  sod  placed  over  the  out 
cropping  limestone. 

Since  I  am  recalling  first  impressions  of  a 
frontier  garrison,  I  cannot  omit  the  surgeon's 
first  notable  case,  which  could  hardly  have 
occurred  elsewhere  than  in  a  tropical  country. 
It  was  officially  reported  "a  case  of  maggots 
in  the  nose."  A  soldier  had  fallen  asleep  in  the 
sun,  and  during  his  unconscious  half-hour  a  fly 
peculiar  to  the  tropics  deposited  its  larvae  in 
his  nostrils.  It  was  only  heroic  treatment  with 
chloroform  that  destroyed  the  maggots  and 
saved  the  man  from  suffocation. 

The  days  in  September  were  very  hot,  but 
the  starry  nights  on  our  balcony  were  delight- 


122  A  SOLDIER-DOCTOR 

fully  cool  after  nine  o'clock  when  the  "Gulf 
breeze"  arrives.  Promptly  as  Tattoo  is  sound 
ing  the  cool  current  from  the  ocean  rushes  in 
across  a  hundred  miles  of  scorching  prairie. 
Blinds  creak,  doors  slam,  windows  rattle, 
the  horizon  is  aglow  with  heat  lightning, 
the  earth  seems  astir  and  alive  again.  The 
garrison  wakes  up,  neighbors  talk  from 
house  to  house  and  even  exchange  visits.  A 
blessed  gift  this  sea  wind  to  the  nights  of 
Texas ! 

Italy,  its  language  and  its  memories,  which 
we  daily  recalled,  soon  had  to  give  place  to 
other  things.  Dr.  Kimball  was  absorbed  with 
many  serious  cases  of  "Texas  Fever,"  which 
proved  to  be  plain  typhoid,  caused  by  a  con 
taminated  water  supply.  Finally,  he  himself 
was  stricken,  and  lingered  for  weeks  between 
life  and  death.  Daily  the  Hospital  Steward 
reported  new  cases,  and  repeatedly  the  fu 
neral  march  sounded  across  the  parade ;  each 
time  I  trembled  lest  it  should  sound  again  in 
front  of  our  door.  In  those  days  the  Red  Cross 


TEXAS  123 

army  nurse  was  unknown,  and  I,  who  had 
little  knowledge  of  sickness,  was  obliged  to 
learn  nursing  under  the  tutelage  of  my  patient. 
But  my  husband's  strong  constitution  won  the 
fight  at  last.  In  March  he  was  able  to  travel, 
and  received  a  long  sick-leave.  He  often  told 
me  that,  during  those  hours  of  weakness  and 
suffering,  he  saw  again — perhaps  with  a  new 
vision  — the  Italian  Madonnas  we  had  learned 
to  know  so  well  in  the  galleries  of  Europe. 
After  two  months  of  illness,  while  still  conva 
lescent,  he  wrote  to  his  mother,  December  29, 
1892:  "Ah,  dear  mother,  how  much  I  thought 
of  you  in  the  days  when  my  recovery  was  un 
certain  —  of  all  you  taught  me  in  my  child 
hood;  the  Saviour  whom  you  taught  me  to 
know  and  place  my  trust  in,  and  whom  I  found 
a  sure  comfort  in  the  hour  of  need."  Such 
words  are  the  joy  of  mothers ;  happy  the  one 
who  lives  long  enough  to  hear  them  from  a 
son  who  has  weathered  the  questionings  and 
temptations  of  life  and  come  back  to  her 
simple  teachings. 


124  A  SOLDIER-DOCTOR 

We  left  Texas,  went  East  to  New  York  and 
to  Maine,  whence,  in  the  following  autumn 
(1893),  we  again  "rejoined"  at  Fort  Marcy, 
Santa  Fe,  New  Mexico. 


VII 

NEW  MEXICO  —  SANTA  FE 

The  old  Spanish  capital;  our  Fort  Marcy  —  Cliff  dwell 
ings —  Turquoise  mines;  Indian  pueblos  —  Tesuque, 
Acoma  —  "Debs  Railroad  War";  the  great  strike  — 
Troops  ordered  to  Raton  to  protect  tracks  and  trains  — A 
lieutenant  captures  and  runs  an  engine  —  End  of  strike. 

IN  the  City  of  Santa  Fe  (City  of  the  Holy 
Faith)  we  were  living  in  Spanish  America.  Tra 
ditions  and  language  are  Spanish ;  even  land 
scape  and  climate  suggest  Spain.  In  1893  New 
Mexico  was  only  dreaming  of  statehood,  and 
the  old  Spanish  atmosphere  still  hung  about 
its  capital. 

Santa  Fe  is  built  around  an  open  plaza  of 
which  the  long,  low  adobe  palace  of  the  Span 
ish  Governors  forms  one  side.  Inside  the  pal 
ace  recent  alterations  have  exposed  the  conical 
fireplaces  and  meal  bins  of  an  ancient  Pueblo 
tribe.  The  site  was  doubtless  occupied  by  In 
dians  long  before  the  conquest.  The  palace 
and  plaza  mark  the  end  of  the  Santa  Fe  Trail, 


126  A  SOLDIER-DOCTOR 

famous  in  American  annals  of  the  nineteenth 
century.  From  the  site  of  old  Fort  Marcy  we 
could  almost  hear  again  the  cries  of  the  crowd 
as  the  long  caravan  of  white  wagons  descended 
the  high  mesa  into  the  town;  "Los  Ameri 
canos!  Loscarros!  Lacaravana!"  When  our 
Fort  Marcy  band  played  on  the  plaza  in  the 
afternoon,  the  scene  was  perhaps  not  unlike 
that  of  a  century  ago.  The  audience,  Ameri 
cans,  Mexicans,  and  Indians,  strolled  or  lounged 
under  the  venerable  cottonwood  trees ;  dark- 
eyed  Mexican  girls,  each  with  a  black  shawl 
draped  over  head  and  shoulders,  cigarette- 
smoking  youths,  Indians  with  their  fagot- 
laden  burros,  priests  and  nuns,  visitors  from 
hotels  and  sanatorium,  shopkeeper  and  shop 
pers,  all  took  time  to  dream  and  dawdle  in 
this  land  of  "poco  tiempo." 

We  soon  found  the  old  capital  a  delightful 
place  to  live  in.  With  our  two  sure-footed 
ponies  we  rode  every  day  into  the  hills,  explor 
ing  Indian  pueblos,  turquoise  mines,  cliff 
dwellings,  and  the  windings  of  the  Rio  Grande 


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W 

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Q   c 
H  ^ 

Si 


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SANTA  FE  127 

before  it  had  really  become  the  "Great  Wild 
River  of  the  North/'  We  dipped  into  the 
early  Spanish  history  of  Western  America, 
and  the  names  of  Da  Vaca,  De  Vargas,  and 
Coronado  became  familiar  to  our  ears.  We 
entered  into  the  local  rivalry  as  to  the  "oldest 
house  in  America,"  disputed  with  one  at  St. 
Augustine,  Florida.  Near  this  primitive  dwell 
ing,  and  of  contemporary  date,  stands  the 
little  church  of  San  Miguel.  The  present  struc 
ture,  which  is  not  the  first,  dates  from  1630. 

Fort  Marcy  formed  a  part  of  the  town  itself. 
The  quarters  were  cottages  of  gray  adobe,  sur 
rounded  by  fields  of  alfalfa.  This  is  the  only 
unfailing  green,  as  grass  requires  constant  irri 
gation.  Hospital  and  barracks  were,  of  course, 
on  the  reservation ;  and  the  band-stand  on  the 
public  plaza  brought  us  pleasantly  in  touch 
with  our  neighbors  of  the  town. 

The  practice  march  was  a  recognized  in 
stitution  at  the  Western  forts.  Here  is  an 
account  of  a  visit  to  cliff  dwellings,  a  detour 
from  the  march  proper.  The  surgeon  writes: 


128  A  SOLDIER-DOCTOR 

"We  made  camp  on  the  Mancos  River,  at  a 
point  where  the  cliffs  graciously  permit  ap 
proach  to  their  well-guarded  treasure.  In 
stead  of  the  brawling  mountain  stream  we  had 
looked  for  after  descending  a  steep  canon  four 
miles  long,  we  found  only  water  in  holes — a 
warm,  brownish  liquid,  bitterly  alkaline.  One 
man  was  made  so  sick  by  it  that  he  could  not 
go  on  next  day.  As  we  found  the  trail  up  the 
river  in  places  so  narrow,  steep,  and  difficult 
that  our  pack-mules  could  not  travel  it,  we 
left  mules  and  baggage  and  most  of  our  men 
where  we  had  encamped,  —  a  place  of  no  trees 
and  no  grass,  —  and  went  up  the  river  about 
twenty  miles,  looked  at  the  cliff  dwellings, 
took  some  photographs,  and  returned.  The 
sun  was  blistering  hot,  and  in  the  afternoon 
the  scorching  wind  from  the  desert  swirled 
the  white  dust  in  our  faces.  When  we  reached 
camp,  our  lips  were  bleeding,  and  we  were  con 
sumed  with  thirst  —  generally  desiccated. 
Rio  Mancos  water  on  fissured  lips  and  tongue 
was  like  caustic.  But  by  boiling  it  and  making 


SANTA  FE  129 

a  weak  infusion  of  tea,  it  was  improved  some 
what  ;  —  we  drank  what  we  must  and  went  to 
bed.  (No  tents.)  Mother  Nature  showed  not 
the  least  solicitude  for  her  children  except  in 
the  beautiful  night  breeze,  which  brought  a 
dewy  coolness  to  our  fevered  throats.  In  the 
morning  twilight  yesterday,  we  bade  good 
bye  to  the  Mancos  and  its  shadowy  history, 
and  moved  homeward.  .  .  .  Stonewalls  do  not 
lend  themselves  kindly  to  the  camera,  and 
those  wolf-haunted  chambers  have  little  to 
offer  so  long  as  we  know  nothing  of  the  life  and 
history  and  folk-lore  of  the  people  who  once 
lived  in  them.  And  so,  in  our  present  perspec 
tive,  the  journey  is  bigger  than  the  cliff  dwell 
ings/'  Yet  there  is  something  deeply  sugges 
tive  in  these  ancient,  dateless  homes.  After 
a  march  like  this,  to  come  upon  distinctly 
human  documents,  bits  of  pottery,  ashes, 
bones! 

A  hunting-leave  in  April  proved  a  series  of 
battles  with  wind,  sand,  water,  cold,  and  heat. 
A  wagon  with  clothing  and  equipage  sinks  in 


I3o  A  SOLDIER-DOCTOR 

a  bottomless  creek,  horses  break  loose  —  al 
most  stampeded  by  coyotes;  but  the  party 
arrives  at  the  famous  Indian  pueblo  of  Acoma. 
Travelers  on  the  Santa  Fe  Railroad  often  meet 
some  of  these  Indians  with  their  pottery  for 
sale,  near  Albuquerque.  The  pueblo  is  situ 
ated  some  miles  away,  on  the  top  of  an  almost 
impregnable  mesa  —  the  "enchanted  mesa." 
The  cliffs  and  canons  which  lead  up  to  the  vil 
lage  are  like  the  ancient  Greek  fortifications 
near  Syracuse,  in  Sicily,  —  a  labyrinth  of 
rocky  trails.  I  quote  from  my  husband's 
notes :  — 

"Camp  near  Acoma,  April  i$th,  1896:  Gover 
nor  Lorenzo  Lino  visits  us  at  eight  A.M.,  and  is 
entertained  on  hard  tack  and  bacon.  We  all 
go  to  the  village  with  him,  and  are  received 
in  his  mansion  [doubtless,  one  of  the  cells  in 
the  pueblo  hive].  He  wants  ten  dollars  from 
us  for  the  privilege  of  doing  and  photographing 
the  town,  but  compromises  on  two  dollars, 
and  I  begin  with  him  and  staff.  The  Governor, 
wearing  a  silk  hat,  is  the  chief  figure,  flanked 


CHILDREN   OF  ACOMA,  N.M. 


THE  GOVERNOR  AND  HIS  "STAFF,"  ACOMA 


SANTA  FE  131 

by  the  Secretary  of  State  and  of  the  Treasury 
—  presumably.  The  cane  of  ebony  carried  on 
state  occasions,  has  a  silver  head,  and  bears 
the  inscription,  'A.  Lincoln,  President  U.S.  to 
Acoma,  1863."  One  cane  was  given  to  each 
of  the  loyal  Indian  pueblos  at  that  time,  and 
at  Acoma  it  has  been  preserved  as  a  part  of  the 
insignia  of  office.  The  hat  looks  as  if  it  might 
bear  the  same  date. 

"Visited  pueblo  and  took  pictures.  Bell, 
Spanish,  in  the  Acoma  church,  bears  date 
1710.  Returned  to  camp  at  White  Sulphur 
Spring,  two  P.M.  Struck  by  whirlwind,  but 
tent  held,  except  two  pegs.  Covered  with 
sand. 

"Four-thirty  P.M.  Our  tent  has  been  over 
run  with  Indians,  and  at  this  moment  one  dirty 
black  devil  is  sitting  on  the  head  of  my  bed 
watching  me  write.  Governor  returns  visit 
and  eats  more  bacon  and  hard  tack.  Rabbits 
and  doves  here." 

This  last  is  almost  the  only  reference  to 
game  during  the  whole  leave  of  a  fortnight. 


132  A  SOLDIER-DOCTOR 

Snow,  and  a  blizzard  set  in,  and  a  stove  was 
actually  put  up  in  the  tent.  However,  the 
trip  brought  a  variation  of  garrison  monotony 
and  proved  invigorating.  The  doctor's  health 
steadily  improved  in  this  high  altitude. 

The  even  and  cheerful  life  of  our  garrison 
at  Santa  Fe  was  broken  in  upon  by  the  so- 
called  "Debs  War" — the  great  railroad  strike 
of  1894.  Drill  was  interrupted  one  July  morn 
ing  by  orders  to  go  to  Raton,  New  Mexico,  two 
hundred  miles  eastward,  to  protect  trains.  It 
was  an  adventurous  journey  from  Santa  Fe 
to  Raton ;  a  few  extracts  from  diary  and  let 
ters  tell  the  story:  — 

"I  am  very  well,  and  in  camp  with  about 
two  hundred  U.S.  troops,  the  Tenth  Infantry, 
at  Raton,  New  Mexico,  —  a  town  of  railroad 
shops,  etc.,  where  strikers  about  one  thousand 
strong  have  stopped  and  held  all  trains  for  a 
week  past.  About  two  hundred  passengers 
have  been  living  all  this  time  on  the  cars,  with 
scanty  food,  getting  sick  and  in  a  wretched 
condition  generally.  The  strikers  have  burned 


CHURCH   AT  ACOMA,  BUILT   IN    1710 


NAVAJO  CHURCH,"  ROCK   FORMATION   NEAR 
FORT  WINGATE,  N.M. 


SANTA  FE  133 

and  destroyed   much  property — a  fiendish 
crowd. 

"July  3d,  1894:  All  goes  well  to  Las  Vegas, 
at  ten-thirty  A.M.,  when  crew  desert  train. 
Pull  out  with  soldiers  in  charge.  But,  whether 
through  incompetence  of  soldiers,  or  whether 
engine  had  been  tampered  with  by  strikers,  no 
water  could  be  injected  into  boiler,  and  four 
miles  north  of  Las  Vegas  we  came  to  a  halt, 
about  eleven  A.M.  Worked  at  machine,  getting 
master  mechanic  from  town.  At  four  P.M., 
pitched  tents  and  went  into  camp.  At  six  P.M., 
the  engine  reported  in  order,  we  broke  camp, 
ran  three  or  four  miles,  —  again  no  water  could 
be  forced  into  boilers.  Twilight  about  eight 
P.M.,  Lieutenant  Stokes  with  ten  men  volun 
teered  to  march  back  to  Las  Vegas  to  secure 
another  engine.  I  spread  my  blankets  down 
on  the  ground  by  a  telegraph  pole  and  slept  — 
slept  hard  and  sound,  the  sleep  of  a  tired-out 
man,  a  cool  breeze  of  the  prairie  fanning  face 
and  hair.  (A  broad,  grassy  plain  here,  with 
bald,  and  truly  rocky,  mountains,  in  north- 


134  A  SOLDIER-DOCTOR 

west,  twenty  or  thirty  miles  distant.    Great 
herds  of  sheep.) 

"July  4th :  Breakfast,  six  A.M. — coffee,  bread, 
and  bacon.  Pitch  tents.  At  ten  A.M.,  Lieuten 
ant  Stokes,  who  has  carried  out  his  mission 
well,  returns  with  locomotive  and  master  me 
chanic  for  engineer.  [No  mean  feat  for  a  young 
ster  fresh  from  West  Point.]  Strike  camp  and 
move  forward,  leaving  at  first  switch  our  old 
dead  locomotive.  At  Dillon  find  a  wreck  of 
coal  cars  run  down  a  mountain  grade  of  over 
one  hundred  and  fifty  minutes  to  a  mile,  from 
Blossburg  Coal  Mines.  Track  had  been  greased 
to  let  our  train  smash  into  station  at  Raton. 
Arrive  at  Raton  at  six-thirty  P.M.,  and  charge 
on  skating-rink  —  rendezvous  for  miners  and 
storehouse  for  arms.  Found  the  miners  had 
skipped."  Ringleaders  were  arrested,  and, 
though  crowds  continued  here  and  there,  all 
trains  were  soon  on  their  way  both  east  and 
west.  When  appealed  to  on  behalf  of  many 
suffering  passengers  the  strike  leader  tele 
graphed,  "Let  not  a  wheel  turn!"  With  the 


SANTA  FE  135 

help  of  the  Army,  wheels  did  turn ;  "  Have  got 
all  the  passenger  trains  started,"  wrote  Dr. 
Kimball,  "with  loaded  rifles  in  the  hands  of 
disciplined  soldiers  who  are  stationed  on  the 
cow-catchers,  in  the  engine-house,  and  on  the 
car  platforms.  If  interfered  with,  there  will 
be  shooting,  and  it  will  not  be  into  the  air." 
The  "war"  over,  the  troops  stayed  on  for 
nearly  two  months  to  guard  the  property  and 
preserve  peace.  It  was  the  season  of  rains  in 
New  Mexico.  An  afternoon  thunder-shower 
usually  broke  over  camp  about  three  o'clock 
so  that  pedestrians  were  obliged  to  time 
their  trips  accordingly.  The  Colonel  and  the 
surgeon,  however,  explored  the  country  North, 
South,  East,  and  West  on  foot,  and  greatly 
enjoyed  the  experience.  Evenings  were  either 
damp  or  cold,  and  grew  very  tiresome  towards 
the  end.  At  last,  orders  were  received  for  re 
turn  to  Santa  Fe ;  thence  the  doctor  proceeded 
eastward  for  his  hard-earned  leave.  Scarcely 
had  he  reached  Onteora-in-the-Catskills,  when 
he  received  the  following  telegram:  "Fort 


136  A  SOLDIER-DOCTOR 

Marcy  abandoned."  The  result  was  that  he 
had  to  turn  rightabout  face,  retrace  his  steps  to 
Santa  Fe,  there  make  an  inventory  of  hospital 
property,  and  transfer  our  household  effects 
to  a  new  station  —  Fort  Wingate,  New  Mex 
ico.  Well  do  I  remember  looking  out  the  spot 
which  was  to  be  home,  and  waiting  patiently 
at  a  railroad  ticket  office  for  the  agent  to  con 
sult  a  map  before  he  could  reckon  up  the  fare. 
When  I  arrived  at  a  lonely  station  one  Octo 
ber  morning  at  five  o'clock,  a  few  miles  west 
of  the  Continental  Divide,  the  desert  seemed 
indeed  no  paradise.  My  husband  said  flatly 
in  his  notebook:  "A  desolate,  windy  place. 
Heaven  help  us  out  for  the  year  we  must  spend 
here."  Yet  we  both  learned  to  love  our  desert, 
and  when  orders  came  for  the  East,  it  was 
with  a  secret  pang  of  regret  that  I  heard  our 
friends  say,  "  Probably  the  Major  will  never 
again  serve  on  the  frontier." 


VIII 

NEW  MEXICO  —  FORT  WINGATE 

Friendly  Indian  neighbors;  Navajos  and  Zufiis  —  Their 
customs  and  industries  —  Troops  ordered  to  San  Juan, 
New  Mexico,  to  protect  the  Navajos  from  intruders  — 
Camp  life  —  A  Mormon  church  and  bishop  —  Indian  and 
Mormon  patients  —  Disastrous  fire  at  Fort  Wingate  — 
Incident  of  a  practice  march;  lost  in  the  desert. 

FORT  WINGATE  lies  on  a  vast  sandy  plain  sur 
rounded  on  one  side  by  mesas  cut  by  frequent 
canons,  and  on  the  other  by  the  towering  foot 
hills  of  the  Rocky  Mountains.  The  vegetation 
is  chiefly  the  pinon  (dwarf  pine-tree),  sage 
brush,  greasewood,  and  amole,  or  yucca.  From 
the  top  of  the  nearest  mesa  the  landscape, 
dotted  with  bristling  pinon  trees  and  broken 
by  the  jagged  walls  of  rocky  canons,  looked 
depressing  and  repellent.  We  saw  no  trace  of 
human  life  except  a  Santa  Fe  Railroad  train 
vanishing  eastward.  In  the  course  of  two 
years,  with  the  help  of  our  sturdy  Indian  po 
nies,  much  was  revealed  to  us  in  these  canons, 


138  A  SOLDIER-DOCTOR 

on  the  plain,  and  on  the  mountain-tops.  Walk 
ing  in  that  altitude  is  laborious,  but  riding — 
at  seven  thousand  feet  above  the  sea  —  is  ex 
hilarating.  ( . 

We  soon  discovered  our  Navajo  neighbors, 
their  houses  hidden  away  in  a  canon,  or  among 
the  pinon  trees,  and  from  the  top  of  Zuni 
Mountain,  we  were  but  forty  miles  from  the 
Zufii  Pueblo.  The  Navajos,  once  notorious 
bandits,  are  now  peaceful  shepherds.  Their 
blankets,  which  we  found  them  weaving  in  the 
woods  near  their  nomad  houses,  are  wonderful 
chronicles  of  Indian  life.  The  houses  (hogdns) 
are  merely  nests  of  logs,  boughs,  and  earth, 
a  blanket  at  the  opening,  and  a  hole  in  the  top 
for  chimney.  The  Indians  were  frequent  visi 
tors  at  the  fort,  for  they  soon  learned  what  a 
good  market  it  was  for  blankets.  Our  shopping 
was  unique ;  the  venders,  man  and  wife,  walked 
silently  through  the  garrison,  the  squaw  carry 
ing  the  blanket,  and  waiting  for  a  summons  to 
the  verandas.  The  man  spoke  only  a  word  or 
two;  "Bueno,  este  bueno,  senora";  and  with 


FORT  WINGATE  139 

stiffly  extended  fingers  —  five,  seven,  or  ten 
—  told  the  price  in  dollars.  A  certain  amount 
of  bargaining  followed,  and  the  purchase 
ended  with  the  Indian's  carefully  weighing 
the  silver,  drawing  up  his  belt,  and  pointing 
to  his  mouth.  Coffee  and  meat  were  then 
served  to  the  group  around  the  kitchen  fire. 
In  this  way  we  came  to  know  personally  our 
Indian  neighbors,  and  through  their  inter 
preter,  the  doctor  was  often  called  upon  to 
prescribe  for  them,  either  at  the  hospital  or  in 
the  woods. 

While  following  an  obscure  trail  one  winter 
day,  we  found  ourselves  at  the  entrance  to 
a  hogdn.  The  occupants  were  singing  in  full 
chorus  their  wild  chant,  "Yaa-yaa,  haio-oh! 
Yaa-yaa,  hai-oh ! "  At  the  sound  of  our  horses' 
hoofs,  the  blanket  portiere  was  pushed  aside, 
and  out  trooped  men,  women,  children,  and 
dogs.  Among  them  was  a  white-haired  squaw, 
Washi,  a  venerable  Meg  Merriles  of  the  tribe. 
She  at  once  recognized  the  post  surgeon,  and 
begged  "el  sefior  doctor"  to  come  into  the  hut 


140  A  SOLDIER-DOCTOR 

and  see  her  grandson,  who  was  dying.  The 
Navajo  medicine  men  had  done  their  utmost ; 
the  sacred  chant  we  had  heard  had  accom 
plished  nothing.  "Iznaga  no  wake  up  —  him 
hit  with  stone  —  him  die;  come,55  she  said 
imperiously,  brandishing  her  stick  to  drive 
away  the  dogs,  as  she  raised  the  blanket  for 
us  to  enter.  A  hot  fire  that  filled  the  place 
with  smoke  was  blazing  in  the  center  of  the 
hogdn.  On  the  ground  lay  the  wounded  Indian, 
his  head  bolstered  up  with  skins,  his  body 
wrapped  loosely  in  a  blanket.  He  was  breath 
ing  heavily,  in  the  last  stages  of  a  comatose 
condition.  A  double  row  of  gentle  savages  — 
at  least  twenty-five  of  them  —  surrounded  the 
victim.  They  sat  smoking  in  silence  for  some 
time,  when  suddenly  one  of  the  men  arose  and 
formally  addressed  the  company.  With  sol 
emn  gesture  he  pointed  to  one  of  the  group 
and  charged  him  with  having  bewitched  Iz 
naga  and  hindered  the  cure.  "Take  off  the 
spell/5  he  cried.  But  the  appeal  fell  unanswered 
when  they  were  told  by  the  "seiior  doctor55 


FORT  WINGATE  141 

that  Iznaga  must  die.  "How  long  him  live?" 
they  asked,  and  accepted  absolutely  the  word 
of  civilized  medicine.  The  man's  skull  had 
been  fractured  two  weeks  before,  and  with 
proper  treatment  he  might  have  been  saved. 
Two  days  later  Grandmother  Washi  came 
wailing  to  our  kitchen  door:  "Iznaga  dead, 
Iznaga  dead;  me  go  away — me  no  stay  here 
without  Iznaga."  We  expressed  our  sym 
pathy —  in  coffee,  sugar,  and  bacon,  which 
she  thriftily  stuffed  into  her  blanket;  and  she 
rode  away  comforted,  with  a  surviving  grand 
son  mounted  behind  her.  According  to  Washi, 
all  the  Navajo  funeral  pomp  was  observed  — 
three  horses  and  one  sheep  having  been  killed 
at  the  last  rites.  When  we  visited  the  hill  in 
the  spring,  we  found  that  the  Navajo  tradi 
tions  had  been  strictly  followed;  the  hut  in 
which  the  man  died  had  been  burned,  and  the 
family  had  vanished.  Flowers  grew  inside  the 
neighboring  hogdns,  and  grama  grass  waved 
over  the  brush  heaps. 
The  usual  garrison  life  at  Fort  Wingate  was 


142  A  SOLDIER-DOCTOR 

varied  by  several  practice  marches,  a  hunting- 
leave  now  and  then,  and  one  campaign  against 
intruders  upon  the  Navajo  Reservation. 

The  Zuni  Pueblo  was  only  forty  miles 
away,  and  we  greatly  enjoyed  a  visit  to  that 
interesting  tribe.  The  Zunis  being  makers  of 
pottery,  often  visited  us  in  the  spring  to  sell 
their  winter  products. 

One  of  the  most  interesting  episodes  of  the 
Wingate  Station  was  the  San  Juan  Expedi 
tion.  I  quote  from  Dr.  Kimball's  account  of 
it,  read  at  a  dinner  in  New  York  a  few  years 
later: — 

"Twenty  years  of  my  life,"  he  says,  "have 
been  spent  on  the  central  bridge  of  the  conti 
nent,  from  Dakota  to  Texas.  The  most  at 
tractive  and  habitable  portion  of  this  tract  is, 
in  my  experience,  New  Mexico,  the  land  of 
'  sun,  silence  and  adobe.'  Habitable  it  is  though 
not  inhabited  except  for  a  few  towns  along 
the  lines  of  railway  and  in  the  valley  of  the 
Rio  Grande,  a  few  settlements  on  the  San 
Juan  and  other  small  rivers,  a  few  Indian 


FORT  WINGATE  143 

pueblos  lurking  in  the  canons  of  its  infrequent 
water-courses,  and  a  few  straggling  Mexican 
villages.  But  the  wide  and  high  tableland  is 
for  the  most  part  a  desert  solitude.  Prairie 
dogs  here  and  there  chatter  and  whistle  at  you 
as  you  pass  and  a  few  songless  birds  fly  by  with 
noiseless  wing.  The  great  plateau  stretches 
away  for  hundreds  of  miles,  with  scarce  a  hu 
man  habitation,  and  the  stillness  is  so  intense 
that  the  faintest  breeze  can  be  heard  as  it 
comes  creeping  along  the  plain  stirring  the 
dry  grass. 

"The  Army  on  the  western  frontier  is  inter 
posed  like  a  buffer  between  the  red  men  and 
the  white  men  —  now  called  upon  to  protect 
settlers  from  Indians,  and  now  Indians  from 
settlers.  In  this  case  we  were  called  upon  to 
protect  the  red  men.  One  April  Day  in  1896, 
word  came  that  a  party  of  miners  was  organ 
izing  in  Colorado  to  invade  the  Cariso  Moun 
tains,  reputed  to  contain  gold,  and  situated  on 
the  reservation  of  the  Navajos.  The  message 
said  that  troops  were  needed  to  keep  the  min- 


144          A  SOLDIER-DOCTOR 

ers  off  the  reservation  and  prevent  an  Indian 
war.  For  this  kind  of  service  our  army  was 
prepared,  and  the  following  day  we  moved 
out,  two  troops  of  cavalry,  comfortably 
equipped  with  tents  and  bedding,  and  amply 
supplied  with  provisions  and  medical  stores. 
The  march  to  the  Colorado  border  was  about 
one  hundred  and  twenty-five  miles.  This  por 
tion  of  New  Mexico  lies  in  the  same  latitude 
as  North  Carolina,  but  the  high  tablelands, 
five  thousand  to  seven  thousand  feet  above 
the  sea,  have  a  very  different  climate.  The 
barren  -sand  waste  in  April,  under  the  South 
ern  sun,  is  intensely  hot  by  day,  and  bitterly 
cold  by  night.  Sand-storms  are  frequent. 
Water  is  scarce  and  strongly  alkaline.  Grass 
and  fuel  are  found  only  in  occasional  oases. 
But  for  weeks  we  had  not  seen  a  new  face,  nor 
heard  a  new  story  at  Fort  Wingate,  and,  tired 
of  the  monotony,  we  welcome  change  even 
though  it  is  to  be  sought  in  the  desert. 

"On  the  afternoon  of  the  sixth  day  of  our 
march  we  descend  from  the  mesa  into  the 


31 

Q    r 
Q  S 


FORT  WINGATE  145 

valley  of  the  Rio  San  Juan,  near  the  'Four 
Corners/  —  where  if  you  lie  down  properly 
you  can  put  your  head  in  Utah,  your  feet  in 
New  Mexico,  one  arm  in  Colorado,  and  the 
other  in  Arizona,  —  the  only  instance,  I  be 
lieve,  on  our  map  where  four  States  meet  at  a 
common  point.  The  San  Juan  is  a  tributary  of 
the  Colorado  River.  Here  were  budding  cot- 
tonwood  trees,  green  grass,  and  water  to  spare. 
When  our  thirsty  horses  caught  sight  of  the 
river's  sparkle  it  was  too  much  for  discipline, 
they  broke  from  ranks  and  made  a  wild  charge 
into  the  stream.  He  best  appreciates  the  good 
things  of  life  who  knows  its  hardships,  and 
this  green  vale,  which  would  be  only  common 
place  in  New  York  State,  was  to  us  a  veritable 
paradise.  We  pitched  our  tents  on  the  grass, 
and  soothed  our  bleared  eyes  with  the  restful 
green.  The  would-be  intruders  on  the  Indian 
lands,  learning  of  our  presence,  abandoned 
their  plans  and  left  us  to  watch  and  wait.  We 
watch  the  willows  and  cottonwoods  come  into 
full  leaf,  the  blooming  of  the  honeysuckles  and 


146  A  SOLDIER-DOCTOR 

wild  roses,  and  the  nest-building  of  the  robins 
and  thrushes,  the  rise  and  fall  of  the  river. 

"For  society  we  have  the  Navajos,  and 
across  the  stream  is  the  Mormon  settlement  of 
Fruitland.  The  Indians  come  for  long  smokes 
and  short  talks.  Their  interest  centers  chiefly 
in  the  commissary  and  the  doctor.  From  the 
commissary  department  they  get  sugar  and 
coffee,  bacon  and  tobacco,  in  exchange  for 
fresh  mutton.  To  the  army  surgeon  they  have 
long  been  accustomed  to  bring  their  serious 
cases  of  disease  or  injury.  One  morning  at 
sick-call,  after  the  disabled  soldiers  had  been 
prescribed  for,  I  was  not  surprised  to  see  an 
Indian  come  up  with  his  wife.  She  had  a 
broken  collar  bone  which  had  failed  to  unite 
under  savage  surgery,  and  her  arm  hung  use 
less  at  her  side.  The  husband,  who  spoke  a 
little  English,  said,  'Him  bad  wife,  him  no 
work/  The  Indian  is  loyal  to  his  family  physi 
cian,  and  he  went  on  to  explain,  as  I  had  often 
heard  before,  that  this  was  through  no  fault 
of  the  Indian  doctor,  but  that  a  witch  of  great 


FORT  WINGATE  147 

power  had  thrust  her  spell  into  the  injured 
limb  and  made  of  no  avail  the  best  efforts  of 
the  Navajo  medicine  man.  I  promised  to  do 
the  best  I  could,  but  said  that  a  cure  would 
take  time.  The  husband,  as  the  wife  could 
not  work,  constructed  a  temporary  shelter 
among  the  willows,  where  my  directions  were 
most  faithfully  carried  out.  After  about  three 
weeks  the  bone  had  knit,  and  they  were  told 
that  they  could  go.  The  woman  smiled  on  me, 
the  man  shook  hands,  and  the  pair  walked 
away  toward  their  hut  in  the  mountain,  and  I 
supposed  the  incident  closed.  But  some  days 
later,  as  I  was  lying  under  a  tree  reading,  I 
looked  up  and  saw  Costiano,  the  Indian  hus 
band,  standing  silently  before  me.  As  soon 
as  he  had  attracted  my  attention  he  held  out 
an  archaic  stone  hammer,  and  in  his  staccato 
style  said:  'Aztec  hammer.  Him  good  wife. 
Him  work/  [No  feminine  gender  in  Navajo?] 
And  laying  the  hammer  at  my  feet  he  turned 
to  go.  But  I  called  him  back,  and  under  the 
genial  influence  of  a  pipe  he  told  me  how)ie  had 


148  A  SOLDIER-DOCTOR 

once  acted  as  guide  to  an  exploring  party,  and 
had  then  learned  how  highly  the  white  man 
prizes  the  relics  of  the  stone  age;  accordingly 
he  had  ridden  nearly  a  hundred  miles,  to  the 
district  of  the  ancient  cliff  dwellers,  to  pick 
up  his  doctor's  fee. 

"My  practice  extended  also  into  the  Mor 
mon  settlement,  where  fees  consisted  of  dona 
tions  of  pies  and  cakes.  Fruitland  is  a  village 
which  contains  about  thirty  Mormon,  and 
four  or  five  Gentile,  families.  They  have  found 
a  bend  of  the  river  where  they  can  readily 
irrigate  a  few  thousand  acres  of  land,  and 
have  transformed  the  desert  into  gardens, 
grain-fields,  and  fruit-orchards.  Scores  of 
miles  from  any  market,  the  coming  of  the 
troops  was  hailed  with  delight  by  the  money 
less  community.  A  cash  market  was  now  at 
their  door  for  corn  and  oats  and  hay,  for 
bread  and  meat  and  laundry  work.  The  or 
ganization  of  the  Mormon  community  well  fits 
it  for  the  struggle  with  the  wilderness,  and 
from  Salt  Lake,  where  they  settled  in  1847,  the 


A  WATER-CARRIER  AT  ZUNI 


A   NAVAJO  WOMAN  AT  HER  LOOM 


FORT  WINGATE  149 

Latter  Day  Saints  have  spread  their  settle 
ments  through  these  mountains  along  the  ridge 
of  the  continent  for  more  than  a  thousand 
miles.  The  Army  often  comes  in  contact  with 
them,  and  finds  them  not  vicious  outlaws,  but 
plodding  and  useful  citizens. 

"Mormonism  suggests  polygamy,  and  usu 
ally  I  think  this  is  about  all  it  does  suggest. 
The  village  of  Fruitland  has  its  bishop,  its 
elders  and  deacons,  a  Young  Men's  and  a 
Young  Women's  Mutual  Improvement  So 
ciety,  and  a  Relief  Society.  The  church,  which 
is  also  the  State,  makes  every  villager  an  office 
holder  in  something,  and  by  this  policy  secures 
unity  of  aims  and  interests.  Whiskey  and  to 
bacco  are  forbidden,  and  there  is  no  saloon  in 
Fruitland.  Religious  services  are  faithfully  at 
tended  by  every  member  of  the  community. 
One  Sunday  afternoon,  with  two  or  three  com 
rades,  I  went  to  church.  As  soon  as  we  were 
observed,  we  were  hospitably  invited  to  seats 
on  the  platform,  where  the  uniforms  of  the 
United  States  mingled  fraternally  with  the 


150  A  SOLDIER-DOCTOR 

plain  frontier  dress  of  bishop  and  deacons.  The 
low  adobe  building  was  filled  to  overflowing. 
Men  and  women  talked  freely,  and  children 
ran  back  and  forth  to  drink  from  the  water 
pail  on  the  window  ledge,  until  the  bishop 
called  the  assembly  to  order.  After  prayer  and 
a  hymn  came  the  communion  service.  Bread 
was  blessed,  and  water  from  the  aforesaid  pail, 
and  young  and  old  partook  of  the  sacrament. 
Though  some  of  the  babies  could  not  swallow 
the  bread,  none  were  too  small  to  have  the 
glass  of  water  put  to  the  lips.  The  sermon  by 
the  bishop  followed.  To  his  humble,  hard- 
worked  parishioners  in  this  lonely  river- 
reach,  his  closing  words  must  have  been  cheer 
ing  indeed:  'The  future  celestial  world/  said 
he,  'will  not  be  in  the  sun,  or  moon,  or  stars,  or 
thousands  of  miles  off  in  space,  but  it  will  be 
this  world  when  made  pure  as  glass;  and  the 
Latter  Day  Saints  shall  inherit  it/  What  is 
to  become  of  the  Gentiles  was  left  us  to  sur 
mise. 

"Amid  these  surroundings  weeks  went  by, 


FORT  WINGATE  151 

and  the  summer  days  lengthened,  until  one 
day  orders  came  for  us  to  march  homeward. 
We  returned  bearing  no  trophies  of  war,  no 
halo  of  battle,  but  we  had  performed  the  chief 
duty  of  a  standing  army  —  to  prevent  war. 
The  treaty  with  the  Indians  had  been  kept 
inviolate,  and  incidentally  a  poor  struggling 
community  had  been  made  opulent. 

"Public  opinion,  in  America  is  inclined  to 
frown  upon  the  professional  soldier ;  he  is  looked 
upon  as  an  accessory  of  government,  useful 
on  occasion,  but  ordinarily  a  costly  and  use 
less  instrument.  A  strong  military  power  ap 
pears  to  be  popularly  considered  a  menace  to 
liberty  and  free  institutions.  So  far  as  my  ob 
servation  goes  the  military  spirit  tends,  not  to 
destroy,  but  to  uphold  and  protect,  the  free 
dom  of  the  citizen  in  all  that  is  consistent  with 
good  government.  The  soldier  as  individual 
and  as  citizen  profits  by  his  military  training. 
While  his  body  gains  in  strength  and  endur 
ance,  his  spirit  learns  courage,  self-sacrifice, 
and  obedience.  He  acquires  habits  of  order, 


152  A  SOLDIER-DOCTOR 

punctuality,  attention,  and  courtesy  that  are 
invaluable  in  the  arts  of  peace. 

"But  above  these  civic  virtues  is  the  active 
patriotism  which  the  soldier  learns,  —  'that 
a  country 's  a  thing  men  should  die  for  at 
need.'  No  further  proof  is  needed  that  the 
lesson  has  been  well  learned,  than  the  deeds  of 
our  soldiers  on  San  Juan  Hill,  and  the  graves 
they  have  left  behind  them  in  Cuba." 

This  picture  of  a  day  in  camp  on  the  San 
Juan  gives  a  few  more  details: — 

"May  19,  1896:  Breakfast  in  the  bower  at 
seven  A.M.,  then  hospital  [sick-call],  which  is 
over  by  eight :  —  I  may  say  in  passing  that 
not  the  smallest  of  one's  cares  for  the  sick  in 
the  desert  lies  in  seeing  that  proper  food  is 
forthcoming.  At  eight  'Baldy'  comes  up;  and 
as  he,  like  all  other  horses,  finds  existence  with 
out  company  unendurable,  Trumpeter  Jori- 
man  comes  along,  and  I  start  on  my  morning 
round.  This  morning  I  visited  a  family  in 
which  there  is  a  sick  lady.  There  was  not  a 
glass  nor  an  earthen  cup,  —  only  a  tin  can  in 


FORT  WINGATE  153 

which  to  mix  the  fever  potion.  The  house  has 
two  rooms  only  and  one  bed.  There  are  eight 
children,  the  oldest  aged  eleven.  The  baby 
of  seven  months  was  cradled  in  an  empty 
box.  The  mother  was  born  in  Boston  —  has 
the  Boston  speech.  When  the  eight  can  be 
left,  she  goes  out  to  teach  some  of  the  neigh 
boring  children,  and  earns  a  trifle.  The  father 
once  studied  theology  at  Andover.  At  present 
I  don't  think  he  does  much,  aside  from  raising 
children.  In  fact,  the  motto  of  the  establish 
ment  seemed,  'Be  fruitful  and  multiply.'  In 
the  doorway  was  a  hen  brooding  over  a  flock 
of  newly  hatched  chickens,  and  on  the  floor 
by  the  baby's  box  was  a  cat  suckling  two 
kittens. 

"Back  in  camp  at  ten.  Letters  arrive  at 
eleven.  In  the  afternoon  I  am  going  to  work 
on  the  Problem.  [These  problems,  stated  by 
the  Chief  Surgeon  of  the  Department,  were 
imaginary  camps  or  marches  in  New  Mexico, 
confronted  by  imaginary  difficulties,  to  be 
met  and  solved  by  the  Surgeon  in  charge.] 


154  A  SOLDIER-DOCTOR 

Dinner  at  six  P.M.  and  the  camp-fire  —  for  the 
evenings  are  cold  —  until  about  nine." 

Wherever  he  went  Dr.  Kimball's  skill  was 
generously  used  for  the  sick  and  suffering  — 
Indians,  Mormons,  ranchmen,  cowboys  — 
even  prairie  dogs :  - 

"June  25th.  Dream  under  the  pines  around 
my  tent.  Hear  a  squeaking  among  the  cones 
and  find  a  bit  of  a  prairie  dog  —  eyes  scarcely 
open.  Near  by  was  his  dead  brother.  Appar 
ently  the  mother  was  dead,  and  the  children 
had  started  out  for  help.  I  picked  up  the  little 
squeaker  and  took  it  to  a  hole,  into  which  it 


ran/3 


For  me  the  San  Juan  Expedition  was  a  beau 
tiful  idyl  of  spring,  —  written  in  my  husband's 
letters.  His  story  of  the  homeward  march  gives 
a  picturesque  account  of  the  lights  and  shad 
ows  of  New  Mexico :  — 

"June  23d,  1896:  Reveille,  four  A.M.  Break 
fast  over,  we  —  Troop  E,  Second  Cavalry  — 
leave  camp  at  five-fifteen  A-.M.  At  five-forty- 


FORT  WINGATE  155 

five  A.M.,  we  have  crossed  the  San  Juan  and 
commenced  march  up  the  hill  and  across  the 
desert.  I  ride '  Baldy '  to  Cottonwood  —  eight 
een  miles, — called  'Cottonwood'  from  two 
trees;  trunks  at  ground  two  feet  apart;  as 
they  grow  up,  one  leans  to  east  and  one  to  west 
—  the  only  trees  for  forty  miles.  No  life  on 
desert,  except  brown  lizards  lying  on  hot  sand 
in  sun,  running  away  when  disturbed.  A 
heavy,  sandy  road,  so  that  wagons  have  to  be 
drawn  downhill.  In  places  not  even  sagebrush. 
At  noon  not  a  breath  of  air,  intensely  hot  — 
sand  burns  feet  through  shoes.  At  one  P.M.  a 
hot  wind,  sirocco-like,  then  gusts,  or  whirl 
winds,  lifting  a  hundred  square  feet  of  sand 
in  the  air  and  sweeping  across  the  plain. 
Encountered  one  which  nearly  buried  us; 
from  one-thirty  P.M.,  a  gale  of  hot  air  in 
our  faces — wind  hot  as  from  a  blast  fur 
nace.  Arrive  at  White  Sulphur  Springs 
three-thirty  P.M.,  thirty-five  miles  from  Fruit- 
land.  Violent  wind  makes  us  search  shelter 
from  it,  but  unsuccessfully.  No  trees,  only 


156  A  SOLDIER-DOCTOR 

rocks.    Full  moon,  uncomfortably  bright  for 
sleep." 

The  next  day  the  troop  climbs  the  foothills 
of  Chaska  Mountains,  and  camps  among  the 
pines  —  nine  thousand  feet  altitude :  "  First 
we  ride  among  cedars  and  piiions  brushing  our 
hats  and  faces,  then  in  the  shade  of  the  tall 
yellow  pines,  and  at  length,  at  about  ten  thou 
sand  feet,  among  quaking  aspens.  Delightful 
camp  here  among  the  pines ;  beautiful  spring  of 
clear,  cold  water."  Thus  the  march  goes  on  for 
a  week,  until  they  reach  Fort  Defiance,  for 
merly  an  army  post,  now  an  Indian  school. 
There  the  teachers — several  ladies — spend  the 
evening  in  camp :  what  an  event  to  those  shut- 
ins!  Another  troop  of  the  Second  Cavalry, 
also  in  the  field,  joins  the  troop  here,  and  to 
gether  they  arrive  at  FortWingate.  Never  shall 
I  forget  that  cloud  of  dust  moving  toward  us 
across  the  plain;  first  a  few  outriders,  then 
wagons,  and  last,  our  weather-beaten,  travel- 
stained  husbands  emerged  from  the  cloud. 
But  they  looked  as  if  campaigning  agreed 


FORT  WINGATE  157 

with  them,  and  their  errand  had  been  worth 
while. 

Scarcely  was  the  routine  of  garrison  life  be 
gun  when  Officers'  Row  was  startled  one  June 
afternoon  by  the  fire-call.  The  fire  started  in  the 
Band  Barracks,  and  as  the  air  was  still,  we 
did  not  fear  a  conflagration ;  but  the  wind  rose, 
and  in  a  short  time  the  whole  parade  ground 
was  surrounded  by  blazing  quarters.  All  the 
barracks,  the  public  buildings,  as  well  as  five 
sets  of  officers'  quarters,  were  destroyed.  As 
the  fire  reached  the  quarters  next  us,  our  friends 
and  many  enlisted  men  rushed  in,  and  within  a 
few  minutes  we  found  ourselves  and  our  house 
hold  goods  on  the  prairie,  across  an  arroyo, 
watching  the  flames  as  they  approached  our 
house.  Fortunately  at  this  point  the  fire  was 
stopped,  and  instead  of  spending  the  night  on 
the  prairie,  at  six  o'clock  we  began  to  move 
back.  Not  so  the  enlisted  men;  they  camped 
on  the  parade  ground,  cooked  their  supper 
with  planks  from  the  half-burned  sidewalk, 
and  ate  it  in  jolly  mood. 


158  A  SOLDIER-DOCTOR 

Among  the  experiences  of  these  frontier 
stations  is  "getting  lost."  A  practice  march  is 
usually  made  into  the  absolute  wilderness,  and 
in  a  country  with  no  distinctive  landmarks,  it 
is  very  easy  to  become  bewildered.  On  one  of 
these  marches,  the  troops  were  encamped  near 
Fort  Apache,  New  Mexico.  One  morning  a 
young  Danish  trooper  —  private  Jensen  — 
went  out  hunting  with  dog  and  gun.  Early  in 
the  afternoon  he  prepared  to  return  to  camp, 
but,  instead  of  going  toward  the  encampment, 
he  went  directly  away  from  it.  Day  after  day  he 
hunted  in  vain  for  a  friendly  trail.  His  ammu 
nition — twenty  rounds  —  was  used  up.  His 
dog  disappeared,  and  he  became  so  weak  and 
lame  that  he  could  scarcely  walk.  At  first  he 
lived  on  game,  then  on  berries,  prickly  pears, 
and  wild  grapes  —  the  last  he  shared  on  one 
occasion  with  a  bear.  On  the  ninth  day  he  met 
some  Indians,  who  gave  him  corn,  bread,  and 
raw  meat ;  but  either  they  could  not  or  would 
not  understand  that  he  wanted  to  get  back  to 
Fort  Apache.  "I  found  out  afterwards,"  said 


FORT  WINGATE  159 

Jensen,  in  a  quaint  account  which  he  gave  to 
the  surgeon,  "that  they  had  reported  me  as 
soon  as  they  got  into  Apache  —  that  I  was 
out  there  and  could  n't  get  anywhere."  He 
continues :  "The  eleventh  night  I  stayed  at  the 
old  camp  [where  he  had  spent  two  nights]. 
Next  morning  I  ate  the  last  of  the  Indian  bread, 
and  at  that  time  I  could  eat  the  meat  (raw)  too." 
At  this  point  the  rescue  party  caught  sight  of 
the  poor  fellow;  his  shoes  were  worn  out,  his 
feet  wrapped  in  the  lining  torn  from  his  blouse. 
Lame  and  footsore  he  limped  along  with  a 
crutch  that  he  had  made  from  the  branch  of 
a  tree.  "I  saw  them  first  and  stood  still  —  I 
heard  the  Lieutenant  say,  "Halloo!  What  have 
we  got  here?  That  must  be  the  lost  man/"  The 
man  had  gone  about  seventy-five  miles  into 
the  wilderness,  near  Black  River.  He  was  so 
weak  and  dazed  that  he  could  scarcely  speak, 
but  with  good  hospital  care  and  diet,  he  soon 
recovered.  In  telling  his  story  he  said :  "At 
first  I  thought  I  was  n't  quite  lost,  but  by  the 
third  day  I  felt  myself  lost."  When  sure 


160  A  SOLDIER-DOCTOR 

that  he  must  die,  "I  thought  most  of  my 
mother  in  Denmark,"  said  he.  When  Jensen 
was  returned  to  duty  at  Fort  Wingate,  he 
really  enjoyed  the  posing  with  rags  and  crutch 
for  our  camera.  I  believe  a  print  was  sent  to 
Jensen's  mother  in  Denmark. 

Two  years  we  spent  in  the  desert.  When,  in 
1896,  we  took  our  last  ride,  sold  our  ponies, 
and  turned  our  faces  eastward,  we  were  both 
glad  and  sad.  The  desert  and  waste  places 
have  a  charm  of  their  own,  a  charm  which  we 
had  learned  to  understand  and  enjoy. 


IX 

GOVERNOR'S  ISLAND  —  THE  WAR  WITH 
SPAIN 

Duties  official  and  social  —  Summer  Encampment  at 
Sea  Girt,  New  Jersey  —  Declaration  of  war  —  Hospital 
enlarged;  arrival  of  wounded  —  Red  Cross  nurses  —  Letters 
to  the  surgeon  —  Engrossing  and  exhausting  work. 

THERE  is  great  fascination  about  the  garrison 
of  Governor's  Island  —  a  little  green  oasis  in 
the  watery  waste  of  New  York  Harbor.  After 
our  long  absence  in  the  desert,  the  sights  and 
sounds  of  port  and  street  gave  us  keen  pleasure. 
The  Island,  with  its  martial  history  of  nearly 
two  centuries,  still  keeps  a  flavor  of  the  pastoral 
days  when  it  was  known  to  the  Dutch  as  Not- 
ten  Island  ("Nut  Island").  For  a  time  it  was 
merely  a  pasture,  "useful  for  the  grazing  of  a 
few  coach  horses  and  cows  for  the  Governor's 
family."  Not  until  1755  was  the  Island  garri 
soned  and  in  Revolutionary  days  it  first  became 
a  fortified  place.  In  1809  Fort  Columbus  was 


162  A  SOLDIER-DOCTOR 

built,  with  a  true  sally-port,  drawbridge,  moat, 
and  glacis,  and  ten  years  later,  Castle  William. 
In  our  time,  twenty  years  ago,  the  warlike 
and  the  homelike  were  still  in  evidence.  The 
Commanding  General's  cow  grazed  peacefully 
among  piles  of  cannon  balls  (now  vanished) ; 
strawberries  ripened  and  roses  bloomed,  hedged 
about  by  cast-off  guns.  A  pleached  alley  of 
willows,  skirting  the  old  sea-wall,  led  to  the 
back  door  of  the  Island  and  "Laundress  Row." 
Fishermen  pitched  their  tents  and  cast  their 
nets  under  the  shadow  of  South  Battery,  and 
found  in  the  Row  a  ready  market  for  their 
catch. 

The  harbor  at  times  was  an  echo  of  Broad 
way  itself  (a  campaign  against  unnecessary 
noise  was  then  unknown).  "Ugly  but  magni 
ficent"  are  the  sky-scrapers,  so  too  are  the 
traffic  boats;  huge  liners,  bustling  tugs,  unsav 
ory  barges,  gaudy  ferryboats,  gray  men-o'-war, 
fleet  yachts,  plodding  schooners  moved  past 
our  doors  day  and  night.  They  shrieked, 
warned,  threatened,  in  an  endless  clamor  of 


THE   HARBOR   FROM  CASTLE   WILLIAM 


LITTER  DRILL,  GOVERNOR'S    ISLAND 


GOVERNOR'S  ISLAND          163 

bells  and  whistles.  On  Sundays,  however,  the 
noises  of  the  bay  died  down;  we  heard  the 
church  bells  of  Brooklyn  to  the  east,  and  the 
solemn  note  of  the  ocean  bell  buoy  to  the  west, 
sounding  its  "forever-never"  of  the  tides. 

At  these  headquarters  of  the  Department 
of  the  East,  Dr.  Kimball  began  at  once  a  life 
of  unceasing  work.  His  official  position  was  a 
dual  one  —  Assistant  to  the  Chief  Surgeon  of 
the  Department,  and  Attending  Surgeon  at 
Fort  Columbus  (now  Fort  Jay).  The  many 
calls  upon  his  time  steadily  increased,  and 
began  to  weigh  heavily  upon  him.  The  sudden 
changes  of  weather,  too,  the  heat  and  humid 
ity  of  summer  and  the  extremes  of  cold  in 
winter,  proved  very  trying  to  his  health,  after 
the  dry  air  and  high  altitudes  of  the  Far  West. 

Yet,  in  spite  of  constant  professional  work, 
he  found  time  for  occasional  social  engage 
ments  in  the  city  and  on  Governor's  Island. 
He  became  President  of  the  Albany  Medical 
College  Alumni  Association,  and  attended 
various  dinners,  where  he  was  frequently  called 


164  A  SOLDIER-DOCTOR 

upon  to  speak.  He  also  wrote  from  time  to 
time,  upon  request,  for  the  medical  journals. 
His  article  on  "Transportation  of  the  Wounded 
in  War"  (1898)  was  largely  quoted.  In  the 
records  of  the  Surgeon-General's  office  may 
be  found  various  communications  from  Dr. 
Kimball ;  a  rare  "  case,"  a  new  species  of  flower, 
or  the  natural  history  of  a  site  for  an  army  post. 
The  first  break  in  the  service  at  Governor's 
Island  was  the  Annual  Encampment  at  Sea 
girt,  New  Jersey  (1897).  There  our  troops  unite 
with  troops  of  the  National  Guard  in  a  "prac 
tice"  camp.  The  Jersey  beach,  with  its  lagoons 
and  groves,  is  delightful ;  and  the  comparative 
freedom  from  care  was  a  boon  to  the  busy 
surgeon.  The  walk  from  tent  to  hotel  was  one 
morning  varied  by  an  incident  which  recalled 
far-off  Yellowstone  days.  "I  have  just  come 
from  breakfast,"  my  husband  wrote  me,  "by 
way  of  the  lily-pond.  There  a  sunburned 
Patrick  was  wading  around  picking  the  blos 
soms.  Presently  he  came  ashore,  and  bringing 
a  bunch  of  lilies  tied  up  for  market,  stood  erect 


GOVERNOR'S  ISLAND  165 

and  saluted,  then  taking  off  his  hat  addressed 
me  about  as  follows:  'Would  the  Major  accept 
the  flowers  from  an  ould  sojer?  The  Major 
don't  know  me,  but  I  knows  the  Major.  I 
was  a  sojer  winst.  I  was  in  the  Troop  A  of  the 
Sivinth  Cavalry  and  the  Major  was  our  doctor, 
God  bliss  him !  And  I  got  a  bullet  in  my  shoul 
der  at  the  Rosebud  [the  Yellowstone  Campaign 
of  1873]  and  the  Major  took  it  out  an'  your 
honor  give  me  a  paper  an'  I  got  eight  a  month 
on  it.  An'  I  hope  your  honor  don't  think  it  any 
disgrace  in  me  a-picking  the  flowers."  "His 
honor"  deeply  appreciated  Pat's  grateful 
memories,  kept  alive,  no  doubt,  by  the  "eight 
a  month." 

Another  time,  a  deaf  old  man,  a  civilian  pa 
tient,  —  doubtless  of  the  same  race  as  Pat  of 
the  lily-pond,  —  bowed  himself  out  of  the 
office,  saying:  "I  wish  your  honor  everything 
the  world  has."  "Your  honor"  was  a  title 
which  belonged  instinctively  to  Dr.  Kimball. 

When,  in  the  spring  of  1898,  war  was  de 
clared  against  Spain,  the  burden  fell  with  a 


166  A  SOLDIER-DOCTOR 

double  weight  upon  the  surgeon,  as  it  did 
upon  all  officers  of  the  Regular  Army.  "Un- 
preparedness"  was  a  word  which  we  learned 
to  our  sorrow  to  understand.  In  the  light  of  the 
great  European  conflict,  the  same  questions  are 
revived  to-day.  Are  we  never  to  profit  by  our 
own  experiences  lived  through  in  the  Spanish 
War? 

A  few  reminiscences  of  that  momentous 
summer  will  perhaps  throw  light  on  the  sur 
geon's  duties  and  cares  in  war.  On  May  26th 
Dr.  Kimball  received  a  telegram  from  the  Sur 
geon-General,  asking  if  he  desired  the  position 
of  Chief  Surgeon  of  an  army  corps.  Since  it 
was  an  offer,  not  an  order,  my  husband  de 
cided  not  to  accept  it.  Keenly  he  foresaw  that 
work  at  home  would  be  as  overwhelming  a 
necessity  as  at  the  front.  He  was  right,  for 
only  too  soon  our  pretty  green  island  became 
little  more  than  a  hospital. 

Every  one  remembers  the  Fourth  of  July, 
1898,  and  the  battle  of  Santiago.  The  hot, 
stifling  evening  brought  us  spectacular  reports 


THE  WAR  WITH  SPAIN       167 

of  the  engagement.  A  note  in  the  journal 
reads :  — 

"July  4,  1898.  Receive  fuller  news  of  con 
flict  at  Santiago  —  many  of  our  friends  among 
the  killed  and  wounded.  News  of  naval  battle 
and  destruction  of  Spanish  fleet ;  —  little  else 
thought  or  talked  of." 

Within  a  fortnight  boat-loads  of  the  wounded 
and  fever-stricken  began  to  arrive,  including 
our  Colonel  and  many  other  friends.  How  to 
house  and  treat  them  all  was  the  problem 
which  Chief-Surgeon,  Post  Surgeon,  and  assist 
ants  had  to  solve.  The  capacity  of  the  hos 
pital  was  more  than  doubled  by  a  camp  placed 
along  the  sea-wall.  As  soon  as  the  wounded 
and  the  fever  patients  became  convalescent, 
they  were  given  free  range  of  the  Island,  and 
it  was  no  uncommon  sight  to  meet  gaunt 
and  crippled  men  strolling  about  in  pajamas 
all  over  the  grassy  ways. 

Oh!  the  desolation  of  that  summer  of 
1898!  General  Merritt,  the  Commanding 
General,  and  his  staff  were  ordered  to  the 


i68  A  SOLDIER-DOCTOR 

Philippines,  Colonel  Worth  and  his  regiment 
to  Tampa  and  to  Cuba.  Two  batteries  of 
artillery,  the  smallest  garrison  possible,  re 
placed  them.  At  Governor's  Island  doors 
were  closed,  verandas  empty,  grass  grew  long, 
wistaria,  and  wigelia  and  guelder  roses  blos 
somed  unnoticed;  no  music,  no  parades;  si 
lence  everywhere  except  in  the  Quartermas 
ter's  and  the  Commissary  Departments.  For 
a  year  Governor's  Island  was  the  scene  of  con 
stant  packing  and  shipping  at  the  wharves; 
loads  of  hard  tack  and  brooms,  rifles  and  blan 
kets,  litters  and  ambulances,  coffins  and  flags, 
all  went  aboard  the  boats. 

Then,  on  one  April  day,  came  the  thud-thud 
of  four  hundred  men  (four  companies  of  the 
1 3th  Infantry)  marching  aboard  our  familiar 
boat  on  their  strange  journey  to  the  Philip 
pines.  When  the  last  box  was  loaded  and  the 
last  step  taken,  a  solitary  trumpeter  faced  the 
empty  fort  and  sounded  "Assembly"  as  if  to 
search  the  hollow  corners  for  any  left  behind. 
We  women1  of  the  "civilian  attaches"  saw 


THE  WAR  WITH  SPAIN       169 

there  the  Captain's  little  daughter,  who  had 
clung  sobbing  to  her  father's  hand  as  he 
marched  to  the  pier;  and  the  invalid  wife  lying 
bedridden  in  her  silent  house  across  the  pa 
rade;  and  pale  Annie  and  Anastasia  in  our 
kitchen,  their  good-byes  to  their  "friends" 
still  on  their  lips. 

The  state  of  war,  then  as  now,  brought  a 
great  outburst  of  sympathy  and  energy  from 
all  sorts  of  people.  Many  were  the  appeals  re 
ceived  by  the  surgeons  from  women — some 
absolutely  untrained  —  who  begged  to  be 
taken  to  the  front  as  nurses.  Dr.  Kimball  had 
always  recognized  woman's  instinct  for  nurs 
ing,  so  that  he  was  quite  ready  to  accept  the 
offer  of  the  Red  Cross  Auxiliary  in  New  York 
to  supply  a  corps  of  trained  nurses  for  the  hos 
pital  at  Governor's  Island.  One  case  my  hus 
band  used  to  mention  as  an  illustration  of  how 
a  woman  nurse  could  coax  her  patient  back  to 
life  when  a  man  would  utterly  fail.  A  typhoid 
patient  (scarcely  more  than  a  boy)  opened  his 
eyes  after  a  prolonged  comatose  state,  and  saw 


170  A  SOLDIER-DOCTOR 

a  kindly  woman's  face  bending  over  him.  He 
thought  it  was  his  mother,  he  afterwards  said, 
and  then  and  there  began  to  mend.  Mere  med 
icine  could  never  have  accomplished  the  cure. 
The  following  letter,  in  reply  to  one  of  the 
founders  of  the  Red  Cross  Auxiliary,  of  New 
York,  shows  Dr.  Kimball's  views:  — 


GOVERNOR'S  ISLAND,  Nov.  5,  li 
DEAR  MRS.  COWDIN, — 

I  greatly  regret  to  learn,  by  your  kind  letter 
received  to-day,  that  our  associated  work  has 
come  to  a  close.  I  can  never  sufficiently  ex 
press  my  gratitude  for  the  invaluable  assist 
ance  received  at  your  hands  during  the  past 
three  months,  in  the  care  of  the  sick  and 
wounded  under  my  charge.  It  has  not  alone 
been  skillful  nursing  that  you  have  sent  to  us, 
but  a  higher  tone  and  better  atmosphere,  so  to 
speak,  have  come  into  our  wards  with  the  faith 
ful  nurses  who  have  worked  so  untiringly. 
Miss  Wyckoff  and  Miss  Barker  now  seem 
an  essential  part  of  the  hospital,  but  we 
are  reducing  the  number  of  patients  —  nearly 
all  those  in  the  tents  have  gone  —  and  as  soon 


THE  WAR  WITH  SPAIN       171 

as  a  very  few  sick  patients  are  out  of  danger, 
we  must  try  to  get  along  without  them.  .  .  . 
There  is,  at  present,  no  way  of  maintaining 
nurses  here,  except  as  you  have  done,  and, 
until  other  provisions  can  be  made,  we  must 
get  along  in  the  old  way. 

With  great  respect,  I  remain, 

Very  sincerely  yours, 

JAMES  P.  KIMBALL, 
Major  and  Surgeon,  U.S.A. 

The  following  note  from  the  President  of  the 
Auxiliary  shows  the  very  cordial  relations 
which  existed  between  the  ladies  of  the  Red 
Cross  Auxiliary  and  the  army  surgeon:  — 

DEAR  MAJOR  KIMBALL,  — 

I  thank  you  very  much  for  your  kind  note, 
and  all  the  kind,  good  things  you  say  about 
the  nurses  and  our  Auxiliary. 

I  am  very  proud  of  having  organized  and 
started  it  all  and  my  great  regret  was  that  I 
was  obliged  to  be  away  during  the  greatest 
work  of  all.  But  it  was  all  so  well  done  in  my 
absence  that  I  am  more  than  happy. 


172  A  SOLDIER-DOCTOR 

I  should  indeed  be  delighted  to  see  the  new 
Pavilion  and  also  to  have  the  pleasure  of  meet 
ing  you,  of  whom  I  hear  always  such  lovely 
things  said. 
With  kind  regards, 

Yours  sincerely, 

ELLIN  P.  SPEYER. 

The  army  of  suffering  men  brought  to  the 
surgeon  vastly  increased  professional  cares 
and  added  a  thousand  petty  cares  as  well. 
Visits  from  friends,  gifts  from  charitable  so 
cieties,  requests  from  sympathizing  commit 
tees,  and  countless  letters.  I  have  before  me  a 
pile  of  these  letters  addressed  to  the  "Major- 
Doctor"  in  the  summer  of  1898,  mostly  from 
fathers,  mothers,  sisters,  or  friends  of  enlisted 
men.  The  paper  is  poor,  the  spelling  often  bad, 
but  the  words  are  loaded  with  tears,  prayers, 
benedictions,  all  in  one  breath.  Now  it  is 
an  agonized  question,  "Dear  Major-Doctor, 
where  is  my  boy?  Is  he  ill?  Is  he  not  per 
mitted  to  write?"  Or  from  a  grandmother, 
about  her  "unhappy  grandson":  "I  entreat 


THE  WAR  WITH  SPAIN       173 

you  in  the  name  of  all  you  hold  dear,  to  reply 
at  once,  telling  me  all  about  my  poor,  mis 
guided  boy.  .  .  .  The  sight  of  a  uniform  passing 
my  window  makes  me  shrink  in  shame  and 
sorrow,  for  my  boy  has  disgraced  his."  And, 
"Oh,  dear  doctor,  thank  you,  thank  you  for 
my  boy's  coat  and  his  purse  that  you  sent  me/' 
Occasionally  the  cheerful  thanks  of  the  dis 
charged  convalescent:  — 

Oct.  5,  1898. 

MAJ.  J.  P.  KIMBALL, 
DEAR  SIR,  — 

I  meant  to  written  you  before  but  I  got 
to  lazy  and  my  time  was  to  precious  receiving 
visitors.  I  arrived  home  that  night  at  9.15, 
and  felt  good  after  my  journey.  .  .  .  The  first 
day  I  went  out  you  would  think  it  was  a 
monkey  and  a  hand-organ  that  was  traveling 
the  streets  to  see  the  young  lads  the  way  they 
followed  me.  [Then  follow  details  of  health.] 
Thanking  you  for  the  kind  attention  paid 
me  in  the  hospital,  I  remain, 
Your  friend, 

J-  J-  T- 


174          A  SOLDIER-DOCTOR 

My  husband  left  none  of  the  humble,  heart 
broken  appeals  unanswered.  I  can  see  him 
now,  after  his  exhausting  days  of  work,  seated 
evening  after  evening  under  the  lamp,  writ 
ing  these  personal  letters.  (The  Government 
made  no  provision  then  for  a  surgeon's  secre 
tary  or  stenographer.)  Most  of  these  letters 
were  from  friends  of  the  volunteers. 

After  the  establishment  of  the  camp  at  Mon- 
tauk,  gradually  the  "missing"  from  the  ranks 
of  our  own  enlisted  men  began  to  reappear. 
Our  waitress  was  made  happy  by  the  recovery 
and  return  of  her  "friend";  but  the  cook  came 
to  me,  white  and  trembling,  "Will  you  ask 
the  Major-Doctor  if  he  will  please  find  my 
'fri-end5  for  me  —  Anastasia  —  she — "  It 
seemed  a  hopeless  task,  but  at  last  "the  Ma 
jor"  did  succeed.  The  day  of  home-coming 
was  celebrated  by  a  beefsteak  dinner  in  our 
kitchen,  with  all  the  soldier's  favorite  hors- 
d'oeuvres. 

In  the  thick  of  the  hurly-burly  of  war,  our 
son  Philip  "came  to  this  world  of  ours."  The 


THE  WAR  WITH  SPAIN       175 

sights  and  sounds  of  war  viewed  from  a  per 
ambulator  seemed  to  be  of  interest  to  the 
small  newcomer,  and  he  grew  and  throve 
throughout  his  residence  of  a  year  and  a  half 
in  the  garrison. 

The  strain  and  labor  of  the  war  told  upon 
my  husband's  health,  but  he  held  out  ably 
until  peace  was  declared.  The  following  win 
ter  (1900)  his  term  of  duty  expired  at  Gover 
nor's  Island,  and  he  was  promoted  to  the  rank 
of  Lieutenant-Colonel.  The  order  making  him 
Medical  Director  of  the  Military  Department 
with  headquarters  at  Omaha,  Nebraska,  he 
received  with  great  satisfaction. 


X 

THE   END 

Promotion  (Lieutenant-Colonel  and  Colonel),  Medical 
Director  of  the  Department  —  Omaha,  Nebraska  —  Ill 
ness;  sick-leave  —  Retirement  for  disability,  April  7  — 
Death  at  Onteora-in-therCatskills,  April  19,  1902. 

OMAHA,  a  thriving  and  growing  city,  was  a 
very  different  station  from  our  last  Western 
post.  Dr.  Kimball's  work  as  Medical  Director 
was  now  almost  wholly  executive.  His  office 
was  in  the  Army  Building  in  the  heart  of  the 
business  section  of  the  city,  and  we  lived  in  a 
rented  house  near  one  of  the  small  parks.  The 
decrease  of  care  was  an  immense  relief,  but,  true 
doctor  that  he  was,  he  seemed  really  to  miss 
his  lifelong  duties  in  hospital  and  garrison. 

In  the  late  winter  of  1900  he  suffered  from 
a  serious  attack  of  the  grippe,  and  from  the 
after-effects  of  this  illness  he  never  recovered. 
The  local  physicians  advised  a  sick-leave  and 
special  treatment.  In  August,  1901,  we  left 


THE  END  177 

Omaha  and  went  directly  to  our  mountain 
home  at  Onteora-in-the-Catskills.  My  hus 
band,  though  far  from  well,  declared  himself 
much  better,  and  urged  on  the  completion 
of  our  house,  then  building.  SftOCTOtt  L,~ 

The  following  winter  (1902)  we  spent  at 
Garden  City,  Long  Island.  In  spite  of  the 
ablest  advice  and  treatment  in  New  York,  he 
grew  steadily  weaker.  Like  the  captain  on  a 
sinking  ship,  he  saw  the  lifeboats  manned,  but 
never  hinted  to  others  that  he  himself  was  fac 
ing  eternity.  Yet,  by  certain  signs  afterwards 
recalled,  I  knew  that  he  was  setting  his  affairs 
in  order.  He  would  spend  long  hours  over 
figures,  and  turn  gently  to  me  with  a  word  of 
explanation,  "You  know  how  this  account  is 
kept  ?"  Or  he  would  tenderly  watch  the  grow 
ing  boy  in  his  little,  prankish,  baby  ways,  and 
say,  wistfully,  "I  am  so  glad  you  have  Philip." 
But  no  word  of  complaint  or  regret  ever  es 
caped  him.  Once,  on  looking  over  the  diary 
of  our  European  journey,  he  showed  me  the 
words:  "Seven  perfect  months." 


178  A  SOLDIER-DOCTOR 

He  read  a  great  deal;  the  last  volume  which 
held  his  attention  was  the  "Life  of  General 
McClellan,"  by  Professor  Michie.  He  walked 
to  and  from  the  station  nearly  every  morning, 
and  seldom  ever  rested  during  the  day.  His 
most  marked  pleasure  was  in  the  visits  from 
our  son  Cuyler,  then  a  Senior  at  Yale.  The 
college  songs  and  popular  airs,  which  he  sang 
with  such  humor,  were  always  welcomed. 
His  father  would  listen  to  the  jolly  words  and 
tinkle  of  the  guitar  with  a  half-smile  which 
came  and  went  in  spite  of  himself. 

The  shadow  fell  upon  us  all  when  we  learned 
from  consultation  with  specialists  that  the 
end  was  inevitable.  In  the  reverent  words 
of  Dr.  Weir  Mitchell:  "In  God's  mercy,  the 
disease  cannot  last  long."  We  played  our 
parts  —  the  doctors  with  their  remedies,  we 
with  our  mock  cheerfulness,  and  the  patient 
with  his  indomitable  courage.  As  one  of  his 
professional  friends  remarked,  "He  chose  to 
die  fighting  —  like  a  soldier."  My  husband 
never  appeared  as  an  invalid ;  he  dressed  him- 


THE  END  179 

self  with  care,  and  to  the  last,  greeted  our 
friends  and  the  nurse  with  his  usual  grace 
and  thoughtfulness. 

In  January,  1902,  he  received  his  promotion 
to  the  rank  of  Colonel,  a  fact  which  gave  him 
satisfaction,  for  he  feared  that  his  invalidism 
might  interfere  with  the  usual  evolution  in  the 
Service. 

As  he  did  not  improve,  he  applied  for  retire 
ment.  The  order  to  report  for  examination  was 
received  on  March  .29.  The  following  night 
he  hardly  slept  at  all.  Notwithstanding  great 
weakness,  he  rose  early,  and  when  I  tried  to 
dissuade  him  from  taking  the  journey,  he  re 
plied,  "This  is  an  order  and  must  be  obeyed." 
He  was  to  report  at  Governor's  Island ;  there  he 
went  through  all  the  formalities  unflinchingly. 
Being  the  only  one  who  could  interpret  the 
faltering,  almost  inarticulate  speech,  I  accom 
panied  him.  The  Secretary  of  the  Board,  fol 
lowing  the  usual  custom,  read  the  medical  his 
tory  of  the  patient.  It  was  a  sad  story  of  a  long 
battle  with  disabilities,  some  of  which  were  ab- 


i8o  A  SOLDIER-DOCTOR 

solutely  unknown  to  his  best  friends.  In  silence 
he  had  borne  them  in  war  and  in  peace.  His 
retirement  was  announced  a  few  days  later 
(April  7)  the  very  day  when  his  sick-leave  ex 
pired.  The  news  was  received  with  a  long  sigh 
of  relief,  a  fact  which  indicated  the  profound 
weariness  of  the  body ;  for  in  his  normal  health, 
never  could  he  have  rejoiced  in  mere  idle 
leisure. 

The  long  term  of  service  was  nearly  ended. 
We  hastened  our  departure  for  Onteora,  since 
my  husband  was  eager  to  see  the  work  on  our 
cottage,  "Buford  Lodge,"  pushed  to  its  end. 
This  real  human  interest  in  carpentry  and  ma 
sonry  did  undoubtedly  sustain  him.  But  the 
nights  became  exhausting,  and  at  last  he  con 
sented  to  have  me  telephone  to  New  York  for 
a  nurse.  It  was  the  morning  of  April  19.  She 
arrived  by  the  afternoon  train;  in  the  evening, 
a  new  home,  not  the  earthly  one,  had  opened 
to  him. 

During  these  last  sad  nights  and  days,  Dr. 
Kimball  seemed  perfectly  calm  and  his  mind 


THE  END  181 

absolutely  unclouded,  in  spite  of  inexpressible 
suffering.  Once,  after  a  desperate  experience, 
when  the  end  seemed  near,  he  bade  me  good 
bye,  saying,  "We  shall  meet  in  another  and 
a  better  world."  But  he  rallied,  with  super 
human  courage,  and  applied  his  thoughts  again 
to  our  material  comfort.  He  gave  some  last 
orders  about  the  cottage,  he  dictated  several 
business  notes,  and  signed  them  with  his  own 
hand.  Then,  in  the  afternoon  of  the  day  he 
died,  for  a  few  moments  we  found  ourselves 
alone,  the  boy  Philip  playing  at  our  feet.  Then 
only  did  I  speak  openly  of  death.  I  confessed 
that  the  doctor  had  told  me  two  months  before 
that  the  disease  was  "without  remedy";  that 
since  then  I  had  been  playing  a  part  for  the 
sake  of  the  one  I  loved  best,  but  that  for  me  the 
skies  would  never  be  blue  again.  He  listened, 
true  soldier,  with  the  serenity  of  a  strong  soul 
who  was  looking  into  the  future  and  did  not 
quail  before  its  uncertainties.  His  human 
weakness  was  dominated  by  a  will  powerful, 
yet  disciplined  by  the  hardships,  sorrows,  and 


182  A  SOLDIER-DOCTOR 

sufferings  of  life.  In  that  supreme  hour  his 
thoughts  turned  to  the  teachings  of  his  mother. 
As  together  we  looked  into  the  beyond,  he 
wrote,  for  he  could  scarcely  articulate : "  I  have 
always  believed  in  my  mother's  teachings  in 
religion;  have  strayed  at  times,  but  never  for 
long. "  These  words  from  a  man  of  science, 
whose  whole  life  had  been  given  to  the  study 
and  practice  of  medicine,  who  had  read  widely 
and  thought  deeply,  are  full  of  meaning.  It  was 
as  if  once  more  he  turned  to  the  east  and  said 
with  his  last  breath,  "I  believe."  I  recall,  too, 
another  bit  of  testimony  to  the  undercurrent 
of  a  strong  religious  life,  in  this  season  of  phys 
ical  weakness.  Hardly  two  weeks  before,  he 
walked  to  the  Cathedral  at  Garden  City  with 
Philip  and  myself  on  Palm  Sunday.  For  weeks 
he  had  not  felt  able  to  go  to  church,  but  the 
spirit  rose  strong  above  the  faltering  body  and 
would  have  its  part  in  the  divine  uplift  of  the 
worship.  My  husband  had  never  said  much 
of  these  intimate  and  sacred  experiences,  but 
whenever  an  outlet  was  given  him,  he  did  not 


THE  END  183 

let  the  chance  go  by.  Once  it  was  the  pealing 
anthem  at  St.  Paul's  in  London,  once  the  Tene- 
brce  chants  at  Santa  Maria  Maggiore  in  Rome, 
once  a  sermon  of  Phillips  Brooks  in  West 
minster  Abbey,  once  the  solemn  rites  of  the 
Greek  Church  in  Paris  —  over  and  over  again 
I  remember  these  rare  moments  when  the 
inner  life  spoke  out. 

The  nurse  who  came  to  us  was  one  of  those 
devoted  women  who  prove  their  help  in  a  su 
preme  hour.  She  sat  at  dinner  with  us,  and 
my  husband  made  her  welcome  with  his  fa 
miliar,  happy  courtesy.  The  nurse  said  after 
wards  that  she  noticed  occasional  lapses  of 
consciousness,  even  while  we  were  at  table. 
After  dinner  I  went  upstairs  to  oversee  the 
preparations  for  the  night,  and  when  I  re 
turned,  I  met  the  nurse  supporting  her  patient 
as  he  slowly  mounted  the  stairs.  He  had  in 
sisted  upon  this  effort,  but  it  was  too  much  for 
the  weakened  heart.  At  the  last  step  he  sank 
down  exhausted ;  and  in  spite  of  every  means 
used,  he  was  gone. 


184  A  SOLDIER-DOCTOR 

"Lord,  who  shall  dwell  in  thy  tabernacle,  or 
who  shall  rest  upon  thy  holy  hill?  Even  he 
that  leadeth  an  uncorrupt  life,  and  doeth  the 
thing  which  is  right  and  speaketh  the  truth 
from  his  heart." 


THE    END 


INDEX 


INDEX 


Abraham  Lincoln,  Fort,  82- 

84. 

Acoma,  125,  130,  131. 
Adobe,  37. 
Albany,  7,  8,  163. 
Albuquerque,  130. 
Alps,  1 1 6. 

Ambulance,  16,  69,  70,  119. 
Antelopes,  36,  73,  74. 
Apache,  158,  159. 
Appomattox,  22. 
Arizona,  145. 

Army  Medical  Museum,  60. 
Arrows,  44,  50,  51. 
Assiniboines,  40,  47,  48. 
Athens,  9,  no,  114. 
Autobiography,  60,  61. 
Aviation,  59. 

Bad  Lands,  49,  70,  74. 
Barrows,  S.  J.,  68,  75,  77. 
Bells,  117. 
Benton,  Fort,  33. 
Big  Horn,  36,  72,  80,  82. 
Big  Medicine,  58. 
Black  Hills,  36,  66,  80. 
Blizzard,  83. 
Boston,  i,  153. 
Braden,  Lieutenant,  69,  71, 
72. 


Brady,  Fort,  80,  84,  86,  87, 

89,90. 

Brooks,  Bishop,  117,  183. 
Brule,  logic  of,  81. 
Buffalo,  36,  38,  46,  55,  72, 

73- 
Buford,  Fort,  32-65. 

Castle  William,  162. 

Cathedral,  116-18. 

Catskills,  62. 

Cavalry,  Second,  94,  156. 

Cavalry,  Seventh,  65,  69. 

Chant,  sacred,  140. 

Chaparral,  119. 

Cheyennes,  49,  92. 

City  Point,  II. 

Civilian  attaches,  168. 

Civil  War,  11-23. 

Clark,  Fort,  in,  119. 

Cliff  dwellings,  126, 127, 128, 

148. 

Colonel,  rank  of,  179. 
Colorado,  144,  145. 
Colorow,  103. 
Columbus,  Fort,  161,  163. 
Comanches,  49. 
Copper,  90. 
Coronado,  127. 
Council  Bluffs,  32. 


i88 


INDEX 


"  Coup,"  50,  61. 

Courts  martial,  62. 

Creoles,  89. 

Crow  Chief,  53,  57,  58. 

Cuba,  152,  168. 

Cusick,  Lieutenant,  50. 

Custer,  General,  64,  65,  69, 

71,  75,  80,  82-85. 
Custer,  Mrs.,  84,  85. 
Cuyler,  Colonel  John  M.,  91. 

Dakota,  32-66,  80-84. 
Dance,  48. 
Danville,  23,  24. 
"Dead  house,"  n. 
Debs,  125,  132. 
Delaware,  31. 
Denver,  105. 
Department    of    the    East, 

163. 

Desert,  136,  144,  148,  155. 
Drawings,  160. 

Earthquake,  27,  28. 
Elk,  71. 
Ellis,  2. 

Elliott,  Fort,  no. 
England,  116,  117. 
Epizootic,  74. 
Ethnology,  46. 
Europe,  70,  116,  123. 

Ferard,  Father,  80,  87,  88. 
Fights,  23,  49,  51. 
Fire,  prairie,  74,  157. 
Florence,  no,  115. 


French,  89. 

Frewen,  Lord  Morton,  77. 

Fruitland,  146, 148, 149, 155. 

Garden  City,  177-83. 
Gardening,  31,  48. 
Genoa,  in. 
Governor's   Island,   90,   91, 

161,  175. 
Governors,     Spanish,     125, 

130,  131- 

Grant,  General,  13,  21. 
Great  Father,  56,  81. 
Great  Spirit,  56. 
Greece,  9,  10,  114. 
Grizzlies,  73. 
Gros  Ventres,  40. 
Gunpowder,  40. 

Hamilton  College,  21,  114. 
Hancock,  General,  91. 
Harvard,  2. 
Hatcher's  Run,  14,  15,  17, 

19- 

Hogans  (houses),  138-41. 
Horses,  13,  33,  34,  40. 
Hunting-leave,  129-32. 
Hyde  Park,  118. 
Hygiene,  32. 

Idaho  Springs,  105. 
Infantry,  51. 
Infantry,  Tenth,  132. 
Infantry,  Thirteenth,  1 68. 
Iowa,  32. 
Ipswich,  2. 


INDEX 


i 


Irrigation,  32,  36. 
Italy,  in,  116,  122. 
Ithaca,  5. 

Jay,  Fort,  163. 
Jesuit,  80,  88. 
Johnston,  24,  25. 
Journal,  70. 
Judge-Advocate,  62. 

Kearny,  Fort  Phil,  42. 

Kimball,  James  P.,  ancestry, 
1-3;  birth,  3;  childhood 
and  education,  3—10;  joins 
the  Medical  Cadets,  10;  at 
Fort  Schuyler,  IO,  n; 
commissioned  Assistant 
Surgeon,  1 1 ;  service  in  the 
Army  of  the  Potomac,  1 1- 
26;  journey  to  the  Pacific 
Coast,  27-29;  becomes  a 
surgeon  in  the  regular 
army,  29,  30;  at  Fort  Del 
aware,  30;  at  Fort  Buford, 
Dakota,  32-65;  marriage, 
64;  at  Little  Rock,  65;  on 
the  Yellowstone  Expedi 
tion,  65-79;  at  Fort  Ran 
dall,  Dakota,  80-83;  ex 
pedition  under  Custer,  83- 
86;  at  Fort  Brady,  Michi 
gan,  86-90;  at  Wilkes- 
Barre,  90;  at  Governor's 
Island,  90,  91;  in  the  Ute 
War,  92-104;  at  Fort  Sid 
ney,  Nebraska,  105-08;  on 


the  Army  Medical  Exam 
ining  Board  in  New  York, 
109;  at  West  Point,  no; 
at  Fort  Elliott,  Texas,  1 10; 
at  Fort  Supply,  Indian 
Territory,  in;  second 
marriage,  1 1 ;  trip  abroad, 
111-18;  at  Fort  Clark, 
Texas,  119-23;  at  Fort 
Marcy,  Santa  Fe,  124-36; 
at  Fort  Wingate,  New 
Mexico,  136-60;  the  San 
Juan  Expedition,  142- 
56;  at  Governor's  Island 
again,  161-75;  caring  for 
the  sick  and  wounded  in 
the  Spanish  War,  165- 
75;  Medical  Director  at 
Omaha  with  rank  of  Lieu 
tenant-Colonel,  175,  176; 
sick-leave,  176;  Onteora 
and  Garden  City,  177-83; 
death  180,  183. 

Lagoons,  115. 
Las  Moras,  120. 
Las  Vegas,  133. 
Latter-Day  Saints,  149,  150. 
Lee,  General,  8,  19,  22. 
Lincoln,  Abraham,  26. 
Litter,  new  species,  69,  72. 
Little  Rock,  65. 
London,  no,  118. 
Longfellow,  84. 
Long  Roll,  71. 
Lynchburg,  22. 


190 


INDEX 


Mandans,  39,  40,  53,  58. 

Marcy,  Fort,  124-27,  136. 

Marquette,  Father,  88. 

Massacre,  92,  95. 

McClellan,  General,  178. 

McDougall  Hospital,  10. 

Medal,  56. 

Medicine  man,  56,  147. 

Meeker,  95. 

Merritt,  General,  94*98, 102, 

no,  167. 
Mesa,  130,  137. 
Mesquite,  119,  120. 
Mess-table,  76. 
Michie,  Professor,  178. 
Michigan,  84,  86,  90. 
Milan,  116. 
Miners,  134,  143. 
Missionary,  87. 
Missouri  River,  32-36,  61, 

66. 

Montana,  33,  38. 
Montauk,  174. 
Mormon,  bishop  and  church, 

137,  148,  149,  154. 
Mules,  escaped,  74. 
Music,  117,  1 1 8. 
Mussel  Shell  River,  67,  73. 

Naples,  114. 
National  Guard,  164. 
Navajos,  137,  138,  141-43, 

146. 
Nebraska,  80,  92,  105,  175, 

176. 
Negroes,  26. 


New  Jersey,  161. 
New  Mexico,  124-60. 
North  Carolina,  24. 
North,  Edward,  9. 
Northern   Pacific   Railroad, 

64,  79. 
Northwest    Fur    Company, 

38,  179. 

Nurse,  Army,  123,  169,  170, 
180,  183. 

Ogallalahs,  49. 
Ojibway  language,  88. 
Omaha,  I75~77- 
Onteora-in-the-Catskills,  1 3  5, 
176,  177,  1 80. 

Panama,  27. 
Paris,  no,  116. 
Patriotism,  152. 
Peace,  19,  26,  48,  152. 
Pennsylvania,  20,  90. 
Petersburg,  12,  15,  21,  23. 
Philippines,  168. 
Photographs,  10,  128. 
Polygamy,  149. 
Pompey's  Pillar,  67,  72. 
Porter,  Admiral,  21. 
Potomac,  8,  26,  32. 
Powder  River,  66. 
Preparedness,  70,  144. 
Pueblos,  125,  126,  131,  143. 

Raid,  81. 
Railroad,  13,  58. 
Ranches,  35,  154. 


INDEX 


191 


Raton,  132,  134. 

Rawlins,  95,  97,  98,  99. 

Red  Cross,  122,  170,  171. 

Red  Stone,  52. 

"  Relations,"  Jesuit,  87. 

Religion,  182. 

Rice,  Fort,  41. 

Rio  Grande,  126,  142. 

Riots,  90. 

Rocky  Mountains,  93,  137. 

Rome,  1 10-12,  114,  118. 

St.  Louis,  32. 

St.  Paul,  83. 

St.  Peter's,  112,  113. 

Salt  Lake,  148. 

San  Antonio,  119. 

Sanders,  Fort,  92,  98,  105. 

Sand-storms,  144,  155. 

San  Francisco,  27. 

San  Juan,  142,  145,  152,  154, 

ISS- 
Santa  Fe,  124,  125,  132,  135, 

136. 

Santa  Fe  Railroad,  137. 
Santa  Maria  Maggiore,  113, 

183. 

Santiago,  battle  of,  166,  167. 
Sault  Ste.  Marie,  80,  84,  89, 

90. 

Schuyler,  Fort,  10,  II. 
Scouts,  37. 
Sea  Girt,  164. 

Sheridan,  General,  14, 23, 24. 
Sherman,  General,  19. 
Shipwreck,  28. 


Shopping,  138. 
Sidney,  Fort,  92,  105. 
Sioux,  38,  40,  43,  47,  49,  60, 

61,  69,  77,  80,  81,  86. 
Sioux  City,  33,  35. 
Sitting  Bull,  27,  42,  44,  60. 
Sons,  91. 
Spain,  3,  165. 
Sports,  61. 
Staked  Plains,  120. 
Stampeding,  49. 
Stanley,  General,  64,  65,  70, 

71. 

Stevenson,  Fort,  84. 
Stockade,  37,  44,  62. 
Stokes,  Lieutenant,  133, 134. 
Strike,  125,  132,  133. 
Sully,  Fort,  66. 

Tampa,  168. 
Teal,  74- 
Temples,  10. 
Tenderfoot,  32. 
Tepees,  47. 

Terry,  General,  64,  65,  83. 
Texas,  no,  119-23. 
Thornburgh,  Major,  94-103. 
Tobacco,  40. 

"Tours"  of  duty,  91,  no. 
Traders,  55. 

"  Transportation  of  Wound 
ed  in  War,"  164. 
Transports,  10. 
Treaty,  151. 
Tuberculosis,  53. 
Typhoid,  122. 


INDEX 


Union,  Fort,  38,  39,  40,  42. 

Utah,  145. 

Ute,  92,  93,  95,  101,  103. 

Vatican,  112. 
Venice,  115. 
Virginia,  17,  22,  23. 
Virginia  City,  28. 
Volunteers,  8,  174. 
Volunteers,    One    Hundred 

Twenty-first   New   York, 

8,11,23,26. 
Volunteers,  Sixty-fifth  New 

York,  23,  26,  27. 
Voyage,  28. 

War  of  1812,  2,  3. 

War  with  Spain,  165-75. 


Washi,  139,  141. 
Washington,  26,  81. 
Water  supply,  122. 
Welsh,  2. 

West  Point,  75,  no,  134. 
Westminster,  117,  183. 
Whiskey,  39,  40,  70. 
Whist,  106,  107. 
White  River,  94. 
Wigwam,  57. 
Wingate,  Fort,  136-60. 
Wolves,  71,  74. 
Wyoming,  92. 

Yellowstone  Expedition,  65- 
79- 

Zunis,  137,  138,  142, 


CAMBRIDGE  .  MASSACHUSETTS 
U   .   S   .  A 


